Satureen
by kamelion
Summary: Sheppard and McKay crash onto a planet nearly devoid of water. Rated T for language.
1. Chapter 1

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The argument had concluded quickly enough, or so he thought. Col. John Sheppard craned his neck, peering through the front window of the crashed . . . uh, hastily landed . . . jumper. "I don't suppose they could be that bad."

"Congratulations, you just earned a spot amongst the heavenly host for your obvious compassion." The annoyed voice came from beneath the control console, at his feet. Rodney McKay grunted and pulled a wire loose from his datapad, squinted at it, and shoved it into the small panel buried within the ship's console.

"Look, I'm just saying . . ."

"Yes, yes, and now you feel a warm glow for humanity. Good for you."

"They're not human, McKay."

"Neither are the people in Washington. Didn't stop them from benefitting from crack decisions, and before you ask, I don't mean witty. Trust me, I've sat in on a few meetings." He didn't bother filling Sheppard in on the details, although he knew the man was burning from curiosity. Rodney freed the tangled wire from the casing and rolled to his side facing another panel that was rapidly falling victim to the imprecise science of jury-rigging. "Come on, you beaut. Get in there." He scowled and concentrated.

Sheppard was getting antsy. "Look, how much longer?"

"Why, got a date?"

"I was thinking more of a time."

"What?"

"As opposed to a date?"

"Oh, har-har. Gimme a few more minutes."

Sheppard's expression remained apprehensive. "I'm not sure we have a few, Rodney."

"Then why did you ask?"

"I was trying to give you a subtle hint to hurry it up!"

"I don't do subtle!"

"Fine! Then hurry your ass up!"

Blue eyes glared at him from below. "I'M TRYING! Your constant whining is a bit distracting, you know!"

"_Whining_. . . look, just fix the damn control!"

"I'm working on it!"

"Well, work faster!"

Sheppard leaned back in his chair, listening, trying to block out the muted curses from the floor. He closed his eyes, feeling out as though some sixth sense would tell him where they were, that ship he'd caught a glimpse off just before they went down . . . were shot down? "McKay?"

"What did I just say?"

"No, I mean . . . shit. Too late." He was standing, swinging his P90 to his chest while looking upwards. He stepped over McKay and hurried to the back hatch.

McKay jerked up at the colonel's sudden exit. "Hey, wait! Where the hell are you going?"

"Just fix the damn wire, McKay! And get us the hell out of here!"

"What the . . . Colonel? Colonel!" The rear bay door opened, and the colonel ran out, ducking to the side of the craft, obviously eyeing something in the sky that warranted further scrutiny. "Dammit." Rodney hesitated, then muttered curses at the panel he was desperately trying to repair.

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Sheppard had learned one valuable lesson from his military experience, and it was the simple fact that hiding in the open desert was damned near impossible. The small ship that hovered over them like a wasp would most surely return to tell it's big brother, or mama ship, to gloat about the nice new sand toy it had found. Well, Sheppard wasn't planning on that happening. No way in hell he was going to allow a ship that had _shot them down_ return and gloat. Of course they probably already had, he was certain they had some sort of radio communication device on board, but it was the principle of the thing. He was shot down. Thing that shot him down was hovering and darting about. He must stop thing that shot him down. It was that simple.And if his friend were coming, he'd deal with it.

Except it wasn't simple, really. Not physically. The first short burst that was aimed at the ship disappeared totally. The second, to his dismay, managed to ricocheted off the force field that apparently surrounded the craft, and pelted the jumper behind him. This proved little need for a third attempt.

As the wasp ship turned and narrowed its eyes at him, Sheppard made a very important decision.

He gave it the finger, rather sophomoric, granted, and ran back inside.

"You ready yet?" The voice mirrored the aggravated swing of his P90 to his side. It landed on a crate behind his seat. He hopped onto one foot to avoid stepping on Rodney's head as he appeared from beneath the console.

The astrophysicist was caught somewhere between panic and anger. "What the hell did you just do? What was that noise?"

"I got stared at. Come on, McKay, I thought you said you could fix this thing?"

"I said I might. I never committed." He yanked at another wire in frustration.

"Yeah, I heard you have a problem with commitment." He waved away Rodney's glare. "Thought this thing ran on those crystal chips or something?"

"Somewhat, and they're fine, for once. Unfortunately the part that needs the repair is the bit that Radek was trying to make compatible with the new navigation system we were experimenting with."

No wonder she flew a bit reluctantly. "You're monkeying with the navigation?"

Rodney rolled his eyes. "No, not monkeying! Try more like making it more compatible with those who have the ATA gene. For some reason the jumpers seem to give us trouble."

Sheppard blinked. "I see. In other words, you wanted to manually adjust the jumper so that you have less trouble flying it."

He bristled. "It was a trial, okay? I didn't think this particular jumper would go out today!"

Sheppard could hear the small craft hovering overhead. "Didn't you check the roster?" he asked by way of distracting himself.

"I never check the roster."

"Then how the hell do you know when missions are scheduled?"

This time a venomous face appeared, grubby with dirt, reminding Sheppard that they really needed to wipe down the interior of the craft, maybe clean the floor . . ."Oh, I don't know! Usually when you grab me by the balls and tell me it's time to go!"

"I have never, ever, grabbed you by the balls." The hum grew louder. "But I might if you don't get this damned jumper off the ground!"

"Yeah, yeah, look . . . what the. . . okay, I'm done! Try it now!" Rodney squirmed from underneath the console and took his seat. And continued to sit. "Well, what are you waiting for?"

"For something to actually turn on?"

"What?" The console was dark. "Oh, crap." He started to duck down again, but Sheppard put a hand on his arm.

"Wait, wait, wait . . . forget it. It's too late."

Rodney rose from his half crouch, and both men looked silently out of the front view screen.

The wasp ship stared right back.

"Told you you talked too much," Rodney muttered.

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"Friendly, he says. Not so bad, he says. You know, you're right. Don't know how I ever could have doubted you, but I think it'll come more easily from now on." Rodney tilted his head downwards, using his shoulder to wipe away the sweat. His joints ached from hours of hiking. Having his hands tied behind him did nothing for his balance on the slippery sands.

"I was going for optimism," Sheppard mumbled.

"Optimism? They shot us down!"

It was Sheppard's turn to glare. "Yeah, about that! Turns out they were sending out a rescue due to our little malfunction."

Rodney winced through the sweat. "Our . . . _what_?"

"Mal-func-tion. As in when good things suddenly go bad."

"And you inferred this how?"

Sheppard was no longer looking at Rodney, but straight ahead, his concentration refocused on maintaining his own balance. "When you were forced outside, and I was still inside, and they told me they sent out a rescue."

Rodney thought for a moment. "Huh. Malfunction. I remember a jolt, I– I thought we were hit!"

Sheppard glared at Rodney again. He couldn't help himself. "So did I, but apparently when they checked the craft, they found a couple of loose bits that weren't supposed to be loose." His glared intensified. "Not only were they not supposed to be loose, they didn't even belong on a damn jumper! Turns out they belong to a certain prototype navigation simulator that a certain RODNEY McKAY assured me two weeks ago was safe and ready for testing! And it seems these bits were burned out, unable to handle the massive power supply you were feeding it! Turns out this is why we crashed! Now is there anything you'd like to say to that, _Doctor_ McKay?"

"They didn't take the pieces, did they?"

Sheppard lunged at him, and was restrained by the man walking calmly alongside him, who apparently found the whole exchange amusing, though he said nothing.

Rodney relented and changed the subject. "Okay, if they didn't shoot us down, then why are we walking across a desert tied up?"

"Aliens."

"Where?"

"Us, Rodney. We're the aliens."

"We wouldn't tie up aliens and walk them across a desert!"

"No, we'd put them in a holding cell and conduct all sorts of outrageous medical experiments on them."

"Wha - Don't give them ideas!" Rodney panicked.

Sheppard sighed and dismissed his companion, leveling a smile at the man walking beside him. "He has a point though. Where are we going?"

The dark man smiled. There was no aggression in the large face, in fact there had been no show of aggression at all, which made Sheppard question the whole being tied up thing. "Tal'Ran," the native replied, and Sheppard could taste the heavy accent in that one word.

"That's a city, I hope."

"It is the trenches."

"Oh, delightful," Rodney moaned, and folded in on himself, which was quite a feat for someone walking upright.

The man pointed at Rodney. "You will dig."

"Look, what I would dig is getting back to our ship and back where we belong."

"I don't think he means that kind of dig, Rodney."

"No? Can I help if he looks like a throwback to 'Hair'? Minus the colorful robes, of course, and maybe the drugs . . ." Sheppard couldn't tell if the expression was a worried or wistful one.

"So we're being sent to dig trenches," he said to the man beside him. "Nice. I've heard of that used as punishment before, so, is this for trespassing, or landing on sacred ground, or what?"

"This is for survival."

The expression was suddenly serious, and turned to the dunes ahead. Sheppard responded with a nod. "Right. Okay, I'll take that. Good answer."

They walked for what had to be another hour at the very least. Sand weighed down their boots, leg muscles ached, arches cramped. Sheppard knew he was dragging, but Rodney was suffering real difficulty, his slightly heavier frame showing extreme strain from the exertion. Sheppard managed to ease over to the man, walking shoulder to shoulder with him, giving him unvoiced support which Rodney answered by simply not falling over. "Would've – been nice – to take a ride in their little ship . . ." he said.

"Apparently either they had somewhere else to go, or there wasn't room."

"Or they're trying to wear us down."

"I'm betting on that one, myself."

Rodney merely nodded as he pulled air into his lungs and winced. He concentrated on the sand below his feet, watching his boots sink as the color lightened with the setting sun, well, suns. It was hot, damned hot, and dry. His shirt was sticking to him, he was certain he smelled somewhere near as bad as Sheppard, and his throat felt caked over. His eyeballs had long since dried out, and threatened to plunk out of the sockets and bury themselves in the sand. He itched everywhere.

He was so taken in by his own misery that he walked into right their lead guide as he stopped; a tall, lean man who said little, and walked like he owed someone money. With one expansive gesture he said deeply, "Satureen."

They stared down from the dune to the settlement below them, and the prairie of sands that stretched flatly to the horizon. And over this horizon was the largest, most spectacular silver moon they had ever seen.


	2. Chapter 2

Rodney woke slowly. He had no recollection of going to sleep, or of laying down for that matter, but this didn't alarm him. What alarmed him was the way his eyes felt like grit, how his skin was like crinkled paper, and he came to the conclusion that his body was best used by someone else. There was no way he would be able to rise, and yet he did, forcing himself up on one hand while trying to adjust his vision to the sight around him. His shirt was missing. He rubbed at his bare chest in miserable disgust, winced, and raised one arm. That was enough for him to plant it firmly to his side and groan, feeling depressed that he was awake and that it was just too damn hot to go back to sleep. Of course freeing himself from this place would be easy enough, he just had to go to what passed as the town square and expose his pits.

There was a rustle, and a dark man entered, the one that had spoken with Sheppard during their little hike. He smiled, his white teeth gleaming, and gave a nod while holding up one finger. Rodney didn't move, just frowned. A bucket appeared, maybe four centimeters deep with water. A small flask appeared beside it.

Rodney wasted no time. He downed the flask, and contemplated downing the bucket as well, but an odd odor stopped him. He dipped his hands in, assumed the odor was some sort of soap, and cleaned himself as best he could. It was unfortunate that his pants seemed to be missing as well, so were his boxers for that matter, but he decided he was too hot for clothing anyway, and had absolutely no desire to go out into the sun. Naked in his tent was fine for him.

At least until Sheppard arrived. He crouched under the flap and entered without warning. "Hey, good, you're . . . whoa!" Bare skin flashed as Sheppard turned back to the flap quickly, hearing Rodney snatch up the pitiful excuse for a sheet he'd apparently slept under and wrap it around his lower body. "You're . . . up."

"Yeah."

"Good." He turned back slowly, as if fearing a lie. "They're gonna bring you some clothes."

"Where's ours?"

"Dunno. You get some wonderful threads, though." Sheppard smiled and pulled at his cotton-hemp-looking shirt and pants. "Good color. Seems to be all the rage."

"Or that's the only material on entire the planet." He eyed the white cloth, which was identical to the dress of their captors, or whatever they were.

Sheppard nodded and stepped aside as Rodney's own clothing arrived, neither man surprised to see the identical loose pants, shirt and robe. He obediently faced away while Rodney dressed.

"So . . ." Rodney said over the shuffling, "any clue why were here and not back repairing the jumper?"

"Not really, no."

"I guess walking back is out of the question."

"I'm thinking so."

Rodney nodded and stood there. Sheppard faced him, and stood there.

They both stood for quite a while.

Sheppard broke the silence. "I don't think they're coming back for us."

"Should we go out then?" He sounded like he really didn't want to.

"As much as I love the summer, this heat is a bit much."

"We should find out where we are though."

"We should."

"You're being very non-committal."

"That's because there's something very sharp poking in my back." Sheppard slowly shifted his weight to one side, and a tall man stepped in. He held a large staff with a pointed end, made of some sort of wood. The pointed end was not, and it was held closer to Sheppard than his comfort zone allowed.

"I see you have cleaned. Food will be presented shortly. You may have only one bowl for now, but two when Mira has descended for Moshna to cleanse the sky." This man was new to them, and his deep voice was resonant and soothing, making an odd contrast to the weapon he was holding.

"Moshna – what?" Rodney stared in confusion, his limited patience showing.

"You will see. Now, you must follow me."

"No," Sheppard said, his eyes glued to the weapon that no longer threatened, but hovered, "what we really need is to get back to our ship. We crash landed, I guess," he sent Rodney a pointed look, "I didn't mean to shoot at you, I just thought . . . look, why don't you just let us go back to our ship, we can repair it, and get out of your hair before Moshna . . . cleanses the sky."

"You know what that is?" Rodney whispered.

"I'm guessing he means that huge moon," Sheppard muttered. "Stands to reason we get one meal in the day, and two afer the work is done."

"Right. Of course."

Sheppard raised his brows, waiting for an answer.

The large man pulled his already substantial height even taller. "It is not possible."

"Why not?"

"We have need of you. You can be of great service to us."

"Yeah, I think you're looking for something similar to a voluntary action. Now granted, there has been voluntary action, but it seems to be all on your part."

The man tilted his head slightly. "You talk very strangely." There was a tinge of humor in his voice.

"Well, you . . . actually sound like you're from South Africa or something, which is a bit disturbing seeing as how we're in another . . . never mind. Look, all I want to know is what's going on here. We deserve that at least, right?"

The man considered, and gave a nod. He slowly lowered himself onto a mat in the corner of the tent, setting his weapon to his side. Other than some sort of wooden box and Rodney's makeshift bed, the mat was the only object in the room. "You are obviously not from here, therefore it is quite possible you have not heard of our plight." He nodded to the flap that concealed the activity outside. "This is Satureen. It is the largest seeker colony founded by the Tal'Ran."

Sheppard joined McKay, who was now sitting on his bed. He winced at the stiffness of it. "And the Tal'Ran are . . ."

"They are the governing body."

"I though Tal'Ran was the name for the trenches."

"Everything is Tal'Ran. Tal'Ran is everything."

"How very zen of you." Rodney broke in, and leaned forward impatiently. "Exactly what do you expect us to do here?"

He looked surprised. "It is a seeker colony. You will help us find water, of course."

Rodney leaned back and slapped his legs. "OH, yeah. Right." He jerked his thumb. "Unfortunately I left my divining rod back in the jumper, so if you'll just let me, uh . . ."

"You will remain here." The musical voice boded no argument.

"Yeah." He pressed his lips together and rubbed his leg nervously.

Sheppard clasped his hands together, which wasn't easy considering the long sleeves he now sported, and leaned forward. "Listen, there's no reason why we can't just help you. We have the means to search this entire planet for water, if you'll let us."

The man's eyes darkened in distrust. "Many have said that. A few have tried. Those that tried raped our planet and made circumstance more difficult for us. We must choose our help wisely."

"I understand, but we can . . ."

"You will work, as we do. You will sweat with us. You will dig, and you will go underground. If you prove to be vigilant, we will accept your offer."

It was the odd twist of a helpful offer that Sheppard couldn't quite get his head around. "And what if the offer no longer stands?"

"Then you will die here, under Mira's rule."

"Oh come on, that's hardly fair!" Rodney exclaimed.

"Mira will decide. She governs all life."

"Okay, I'm assuming Mira's the sun, or suns," Rodney muttered to Sheppard. "Doesn't help our case much, though."

Sheppard wasn't finished trying. "What makes you so sure someone will come looking for us, anyway?"

"You have said so. In your actions."

"You were convinced from the moment you saw us."

He gave a nod. "Your kind will search for you."

"We could be thousands of light years from our kind."

"That is a short range ship. Your kind is nearby."

"Well, maybe we're fugitives." Rodney took a stance and tilted his chin importantly. "Maybe they don't want us back."

"Again, judging by your discarded clothing, no. You are not fugitives."

He deflated. "So we're hostages."

The man stood. "We need help, and we are running out of time. When your people find you, we will talk. They will help us in exchange for your lives."

"Look, if this search is for water for a dying people, I already said . . ."

"And I said we will talk more when your people arrive. Now please, follow me."


	3. Chapter 3

They emerged from the tent into bright orange haze. The heat rose from the sands in oily waves, blurring the activity around them. People walked about in white clothes and headdresses, sandals on their feet. The man looked back at Sheppard and McKay, and down at their bare feet. "You must be fitted," he said, and walked without waiting for an answer.

"Fitted? Oh, right." Rodney stepped one bare foot off of the large, thick material that served as the floor of his tent, and yelped, pulling it back sharply. The look he sent Sheppard was panicked. "This is a fire-walk! I can't walk on this!"

"Try, Rodney." Sheppard took a step, and winced, then gritted his teeth as the heat burned his foot and clenched every muscle in his leg. He started to execute a perfect beach-hop across the sand to catch up with his guide. Rodney followed as best as he could, cursing every step.

By the time they reached the large tent surrounded by leather-looking sandals, both men felt throughly scorched. The smooth blanket that lay in the entrance to the tent provided little relief. Their guide gestured for them to sit, and signaled something to the man standing outside. He tsk'ed as he knelt down and examined the minor burns. Sheppard accepted the scrutiny, but Rodney kept yanking back. "You are not used to the heat," the guide said sympathetically. "Your feet will toughen. You should walk every morning with bare feet on the sands until you adjust. There are many here who no longer have need for such footwear."

"We'll be here that long, you think?" Sheppard hissed as a cool cloth was pressed to the sole of his right foot. He was imagining a baby leaning to crawl on the sands, the thick heat abusing new, tender skin.

"That all depends on your people," the guide remarked with a smile, and dipped the cloth, reaching for Sheppard's other foot. Another man was giving Rodney similar treatment, and he was gritting his teeth and bearing it.

Once they were cleansed, they entered the tent.

It looked like the others they had passed, no more than large, threadbare (and white, of course) pieces of material slung over thin supports. The smell reminded them of a tannery. Straps of every thickness and length hung over lines tied from one side of the tent to the other. The man that owned the place nodded and gestured rapidly, pulling down long laces and presenting them to the guide, who either nodded or shook his head, examining each one carefully before picking out two sturdy-looking straps and a pair of thick soles with holed flaps. He walked to Rodney and showed him how to thread the laces into the holes, and how to strap the sandal to his foot. It took three tries.

Sheppard was staring at his new footwear, and the sudden disorienting feeling of being flung headlong into a culture he wanted no part of really began to sink in. He was being dressed, for god's sake, just like them. On their first day. For no good reason other than the white color would help to block the harmful UV rays. Hell, he liked tans. Used to have a killer one in his early twenties, that year he spent the entire summer surfing. That heat was dry heat, and there was an ocean to cure it. At least it wasn't humid heat, the kind that made your skin melt from your bones in wet layers. This heat was just . . . alien heat. And yet he felt oddly like he was in Afghanistan or something. Which wasn't such a good thing.

"Sheppard? You okay?"

He snapped his attention to his friend. "What?"

"I said, do you need help?"

He looked down, realizing his thoughts had stopped him midway through tying his laces for several moments, and that the three men were watching him steadily.

Maybe it was all a bad dream.

"I'm fine." He managed to circle the leather around his ankle and somehow knot the sandal to his foot. Getting it back off would be a chore.

Their guide gave a satisfied nod. "You will need food, and a workers permit to be given to the Tal'Ran. You will be assigned your duties, which will start after you sleep. That gives you the full day to become accustomed to Satureen." The guide handed the tanner some paper which Sheppard assumed was money, gave a polite bow, and exited.

Well, it was obvious they would be there for the day, anyhow. Maybe by dinner he could convince the man to release them, let them return to the jumper where they could actually do some good. Sheppard hurried out after the guide, his sandals already cutting into his flesh. "Wait. If we're going to do this, we should at least be properly introduced." The man stopped, facing him expectantly. "I'm Colonel John Sheppard, and this is Dr. Rodney McKay." Rodney gave a small wave, huffing after his sprint behind the colonel, offering nothing. "And you are?"

The man smiled. "I am Brouk."

Rodney smiled. "Brook? You mean like a little running water thing?" He made a scurrying motion with his fingers. "How ironic." He caught Sheppard's glance. "Never mind."

"My title is that of overseer. I observe the workers in the field. But I doubt you will be under my jurisdiction."

"Too bad." The comment came off as an intended slight, but Sheppard was surprised to find he meant it.

Brouk smiled. "You will need to eat. Come with me. Today, you will eat like the overseers."

"How kingly of you. Thank you," Rodney quipped. He watched as Brouk walked away, and turned to Sheppard. "So, what's the plan?"

"What do you mean, what plan?"

"Surely we're not staying here?"

"You know of a way back?"

"As a matter of fact, yes! And so do you!"

"No, I mean getting out of here with our heads intact." He watched the retreating back. "He seems nice enough, but I'm pretty sure that'll change if we just take the notion to disappear." He noticed a few tall men watching them. "We should stay put for a bit, huh?"

"You're kidding."

"You got a better idea?"

"Well . . . no. Which I'm sure has to do with the fact that I've had virtually nothing to eat or drink, I"m surprised I'm still standing."

To tell the truth, Sheppard was too. But he could he that Rodney's movements were becoming increasingly sluggish, and his hands were shaking slightly. "We should fill them in on your little condition."

"Please, you make it sound like I have seizures or something."

"I'm just saying, there might be an extra bowl in it for you."

"Really?" Rodney perked. "Hope it's good, or you'll curse the day you were born."

"So what's new?" Sheppard muttered.

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The food was highly spiced. "Stands to reason, being out here," Sheppard said as he gulped down an unidentifiable beverage, and coughed. "Keeps the food fresher." Too bad it did nothing for the beverage, which smelled rather like rotten gym socks.

"Ish good. Ish really, really good." Rodney wasn't breathing, because to breathe would be to sacrifice effort, and at the moment all energy was spent shoveling food in. He looked up innocently at Sheppard's rather disgusted expression. "What? The walk was long, I had a power bar last night and that was it. Never mind the humiliating fact that it was fed to me, and therefore practically thrust down my throat. So I'm hungry. So sue me." He pointedly shoved a piece of meat into this mouth.

"Where does this food come from?" Sheppard asked Brouk, who was seated beside him and eating with the manner of a connoisseur.

"We have a few trade agreements established. We provide glass and tanning. They provide fresh food."

"I haven't seen any creatures here, other than a few . . . I hope they're snakes. Where do the hides come from?"

Brouk pointed with his bread to a distant place. "They live very far off, where the greenlands used to be. Most have taken to the underground caverns, but there are a few that linger above ground. The kill is easy, but they are fewer in numbers."

"No water."

"Exactly."

"But you must be getting water from someplace, I mean, you're not completely depleted," Rodney commented around what looked like pita bread.

Brouk nodded as he swallowed. "There is a reservoir. When the rains do come, we collect what we can."

Sheppard spooned his broth. "How often is that?"

Brouk set down his bread and leaned his elbows on the table, looking each man directly in the eyes. "I will tell you. My ancestors lived on a lush and fertile planet. Something happened, and the waters left us. When the rains do come, the planet greedily laps it up, leaving little for us. It lasts a week or so, and fills the trenches. We fill the reservoir. But it doesn't last for long, and the rains are far between. Fortunately we are due for another in the upcoming weeks."

"When was the last?"

"Four cycles ago."

"Depending on how long a cycle is here, that's quite a while."

"It has been our longest drought in known memory. So we must dig, and find this water that the planet is taking from us. Persuade her to share."

"Makes me wish our little sci-fi journeys had ventured into the realm of terra-forming," Rodney muttered, and he slapped his bread onto the glass plate.

"So you see why we need your help."

"Oh, trust me, I understand fully. But I don't see why you think holding us here will make my people willing to help. This isn't how we operate."

"You don't have as much at stake."

"Oh, you'd be surprised. Ever heard of the Wraith?"

"Of course."

The admission was too calm. Rodney sputtered. "Oh. Well . . .see? Okay." He implored Sheppard with his eyes.

"Do the Wraith come here?" Sheppard asked, taking over the questioning.

"The Wraith are asleep."

"Yeah." Sheppard nodded and noticed Rodney sit back in disbelief. There was no reason to fuel a possible fire on a planet as hot as this. "So what are these trenches for?"

"Channeling the water when it comes."

"And it takes that much digging?"

"The rains are heavy. Much erosion. The trenches must be fortified."

"What about these caverns? You said something about going underground."

Brouk nodded. "We have reason to believe that there is a great underground river."

Rodney nearly laughed. "Wait, wait, wait . . . underground river?"

"The rain that falls must go somewhere."

Rodney opened his mouth, then sobered. "Wait, that almost makes sense."

Their host nodded. "This vast body of water can be reached by traversing the massive underground system of caverns. Only we have been unable to find it."

Rodney sparked. "How big?"

"We believe it is larger than eight Satureen colonies."

"Okay, that's big," Sheppard replied. He had noticed the look on Rodney's face. "Your computer's running, McKay. What's up?"

There was a gleam in his eye. "If there was a way to pump this water to the surface and contain it," he said to their host rapidly, "over a few years you would be able to reestablish a normal water cycle." His finger twirled in the air as he thought out loud. "Of course the fact that you _do_ have some sort of water cycle implies that there must be surface water somewhere, perhaps elsewhere on the planet?"

"The planet has been searched by aircraft. There is no surface water."

Rodney shook his head. "Nonono, water has to be surfacing somewhere, even if only for a brief time, maybe like a geyser." He snapped his fingers. "Surface temperatures being what they are, I bet the underground temps near the core are extraordinary. Probably causes enough pressure to push the water to the surface, like a jet fountain."

"No one has seen this," Brouk said, his brows draw together in deep thought.

"Besides, if the core temps were that hot, wouldn't it just evaporate the water?" Sheppard asked.

"Not if the water was protected. Not it if was wrapped, say, in warm rock, and not if the heat was an occasional upward release, rather than constant exposure. You'd loose some, sure, but more would be forced upwards. Again, you'd loose some as it breaks the surface, but most would evaporate into clouds. Enough clouds collecting moisture, and you get rain."

"Sound like this would have to happen several times, and be one hell of a geyser," Sheppard said.

"It would have to be on a volcanic scale to work, and quite possibly over different areas," Rodney turned to Brouk, "do you have any topographical maps of the planet?"

"I am sorry?"

"Uh, pictures, drawings of the surface features of the planet."

He nodded slowly. "I believe I can get something for you, yes."

"See?" Rodney was beaming. "We don't need Atlantis. We can solve this one on our own, and be home in time for dinner tomorrow."


	4. Chapter 4

It was a wonder he hadn't thrown his back out.

He caught her watching him during the upswing. The result was over extension, because his distraction caused him to ignore his work, and his howe soared over his head much farther than it had any right to before he swung it down heavily, the pronged end lodging deep into the ground. It looked impressive, which was a good thing. The bad thing was he had to remained bent over it for a moment.

One thing Rodney hadn't counted on was being flustered by a beautiful woman. Well, okay, being flustered by beautiful women was one constant in life he _could_ count on. But to see such self-possessed, radiant perfection here was unexpected. And she was sassy.

He liked sassy.

Unfortunately she seemed to be involved with Brouk, but he wasn't saying anything.

She was watching him with a gleam in her dark eyes, perspiration dotting her ebony skin, which was soft and perfect. Her brow was high, her hair braided tightly back. Her thin arms looked too delicate, yet she lifted loads he merely glared at. Her chin was raised. In a word, she was regal.

"So," she smiled as he straightened and popped his back with a groan, "you decided this work is suited to you after all?" The language rolled off her tongue like underwater waves.

"What, this?" He took the opportunity to gesture at the trench, and catch his breath. "I never said it wasn't. I merely said I wasn't used to it." He was a bit affronted. He thought he'd been doing rather well, provide his back didn't take a holiday.

"Then why you hold your howe like a mula spade?"

"Excuse me?"

She took the tool and adjusted his grip. "Now you try."

He did. And felt like an idiot.

She merely laughed and walked back to her work, her hips swinging.

"Women," he muttered, and started another aggressive back swing when a sudden yell startled him. He cried out and dropped the howe, collapsing to the side of the trench, clutching his chest and gasping for breath.

Sheppard tumbled into the trench, landing on his rear and sitting there, also trying to catch his breath. "You nearly took my head off!"

"And you nearly gave me a coronary! How the hell was I supposed to know you were up there?"

"You think my calling your name could be a clue?"

"Oh. I– I didn't hear you." Rodney pushed from the wall and quickly picked up his tool, stepping several paces away to resume his work.

Sheppard climbed to his feet, noticing a dark lady watching them with a smile on her face. He gave her a polite nod, and gave Rodney a knowing look. "You thinking about Lydya again?"

"And why would you say that?" He very pointedly did not look up.

"Because she's watching you." He leaned against the side, smiling at the woman and giving a little finger wave.

"Oh please, you're so juvenile." He slapped Sheppard's hand down. "Don't do that!"

"Hey, you're the one who thought a Wraith woman was hot."

"She was hot, and she wasn't a Wraith, not really, because. . .look, what do you want? Don't you have to sling dirt somewhere?"

"Sand, and yes, and so do you. Seems the higher ups are impressed with out efforts." He smiled. "We're being transferred."

Rodney straightened and wiped the sweat from his brow. "Oh yeah? Where to?"

"Well, it's – it's a trench . . ."

Rodney growled and resumed digging.

"But it's right beside the cavern, so it's cooler."

"You and your damned optimism. You know," Rodney planted his tool and regarded Sheppard, "If they had just listened to our theory . . ."

"About water shooting up from the ground."

"Yes! It's perfectly plausible!"

"I'm not arguing! But they want proof. And asking to go to the jumper to go get proof probably wasn't the smartest idea!"

"It's not like we were going to escape!"

"They don't know that!"

"I don't believe this. What does it take to get some trust around here?"

"What does it take to get some work around here?" Two men had approached them, and was listening to the conversation from behind.

Rodney sighed, his shoulders dropping, and turned. "What difference does it make? This trench is dug. Excavated. Scooped out, grubbed, smoothed to a fine glassy polish. In fact I bet if you angle a concave lens in just the right spot you'll have a glass furnace." He turned back to Sheppard, and felt a heavy hand on his shoulder.

"No excuse to stop working."

"Oh, and just what are you, dig-dug patrol?"

It was the wrong thing to say. Rodney grunted loudly as he suddenly found himself face first against the wall, with a hand held tool pricking the back of his neck.

"Hey!" he heard Sheppard snap, and managed to turn his head to see the other man holding his own tool at his friend's chest. Sheppard looked angry, his eyes darting from the tool aimed at him to Rodney. Rodney tried to away, and stopped at the pain that stabbed the back of his neck.

"Look," he rasped, "there's no need for this. We'll get back to work. No more trouble from me, okay?"

But it wasn't enough. The man leaned down on him, his breath tickling Rodney's ear. "You've been talking with Lydya again."

"She talked to me."

"You stay away from her. She is an important woman. You leave her be."

"So important she stays in the trenches?" He gasped as the tool was jabbed into his neck.

"She supervises. She is with Brouk. You will leave her alone, do you understand?"

Sure. In fact, he was wondering where she was, for that matter, where anybody was. The usually crowded trench was deserted. He didn't dare glance at Sheppard, but knew he was there, motionless, waiting.

The weight eased. Rodney gasped in relief and turned to lean against the wall, but was stopped by a familiar touch. "Hey, wait. The back of your neck's bleeding a little, don't get this sand in it." Sheppard hand was firm on his arm. "You okay?"

"Yeah. You?"

"Peachy." He eyed the two men angrily as they walked off. "Wonder what the hell that was about?"

"I guess the Queen of Nubia has bodyguards and neglected to tell us." He winced. "Christ, this hurts!"

"Let's get you to Brouk. He'll know someone that can patch you up."

Rodney nodded. "Need more of that glop for my face, too. I can feel it burning again." His voice was a brave whimper.

Sheppard fished in his robe and pulled out a tiny glass jar. "Use this for today. I've got more." He frowned behind Rodney's back, examining the small puncture wounds caused by the prongs on the miniature howe. "Come on, let's go."

"Our shift isn't over." He was slapping the goop onto his red face. The sunburn was bad enough. Last thing he needed was for those goons to track him down and do some real damage. He could fee the blood run slowly down his upper back, tickling disturbingly.

Sheppard signaled with his eyes. "Do you see anyone here?"

Rodney looked. The trench was empty, the silky sides catching the light like a much needed breath. "Good point." He staggered to the ladder and climbed out, with Sheppard right behind him.

--------------------------------------

Brouk was livid, which was a scary sight. His dark eyes sunk in on themselves, burning like coals. "Which men did this? This behavior is not acceptable!" His voice was low and angry, and not so melodic.

"I don't know, I was too busy studying grains of sand up close and personal. I know they were tall and dark." Rodney noticed the look of disdain. "What can I say? You all look alike."

"This is no joke."

"Does this look funny to you?" Rodney pulled away the cloth, revealing three inflamed sores.

Brouk placed his hand on Rodney's shoulder. "I really am sorry. But you will soon be away from that place."

"Yeah, into another trench. Maybe this one'll have a better view and a wet bar." He sighed and dropped the cloth into his lap. "We've been here nearly a week, according to my watch, which incidentally was the only thing left to me. Isn't that time enough to prove our worth?" And where the hell was the rescue team?

Brouk was apparently thinking the same. "Your people have not come for you."

Rodney smirked. "Yeah, thanks for noticing."

"You must not be as important as you thought."

Rodney's mouth worked, and Sheppard chose this moment to step into the conversation.

"It's possible there's been some sort of malfunction, or delay. I'm sure they'll make contact as soon as they are able."

"You have a lot of faith in those that abandon you."

He decided to let the statement go. "I don't suppose it's possible that there could be something here that disrupts communications?" he asked, perfectly innocently.

"You'd think with all the glassiness, we be surrounded by conductors," Rodney muttered. A look crossed his face, one of extreme thought, and Sheppard wondered what was processing.

He stood. "Thanks for the help. I don't suppose you mind if Rodney takes the rest of the day off, seeing as how it's near shift's end." He noticed Rodney's sharp glare, and ignored it.

"It would be fine, given the circumstance."

Sheppard grabbed hold of Rodney's elbow and guided him up. "Thanks." He gave a polite smile, and ushered his friend out of the tent.

The sky was darkening at a rather alarming rate. The two men looked up at the same time, each noticing the large moon rising in the distance, oddly lined. It was such a natural event for both of them that at first they took no notice. But slowly, it sunk in. "Clouds," Rodney said in wonderment. "Not many, but there they are."

Sheppard rested his hands on his hips and watched the moon rise through the wisps. "So you've got a direction for your search, at least." He jerked his head at the tent behind them. "What were you thinking back there?"

"Hm? Oh, just wondering what those tunnels are really for. I mean, it's easy to see how they passed water through them like sand through a sieve, the smoothness is evidence of that, but if used properly, and insulated, and made much smaller, yeah okay a hell of a lot smaller, they could prove valuable as a source of power transference. It would take a lot of adjustment, but it could be done." He noticed he was walking alone, and turned back. "What?"

Sheppard was staring. "This is a result of sunstroke, right?"

"It was just a thought! Since when are we penalized for thoughts?"

"Too much sun. Need to get you a turban." Sheppard shouldered past.

"I didn't say I was going to do it! I didn't even say it could definitely be done, I just said it as a random thought that passed through my head, and by the way, you asked! So blame yourself!"

"Pipe down, will ya? I'm sorry I asked."

Rodney started a retort, and winced, hesitating in his step. Sheppard was at his side in a moment.

"See? Got yourself all worked up, now calm down . . . look, here we are." He pulled back the flap to Rodney's tent.

"You're worse than a mother hen. But I guess it's kinda nice," Rodney groused, and collapsed onto his bed. It squeaked and threatened to buckle.

"I guess I'll take that as a compliment." He hovered in the doorway. "I'm gonna go get us some food, and I expect to see you laying down, not up and pouring over those maps."

"No, no, of course not." Rodney threw a arm over his eyes, and was still.

Sheppard walked out, noticing a bit more bustle than he was accustomed to. It wasn't a panic, more like a surprise party were the guest were ecstatic because the victim was coming up the walk. He pulled a man aside, one he recognized but couldn't put a name to. "What's going on?"

The man looked at him like he was a fool, then pointed up. "_Sarra._ Rain." A huge grin overtook his small face, and he jogged on his way.

"Rain," he muttered, and looked behind him. The moon was now sliced in half by clouds as dark as the midnight sky. Another man jostled him, a woman grazed by with an apology. He didn't care. He found himself walking backwards as he gazed upward, his steps quickening, and he turned into a run, finding himself at Brouk's tent right as the tall man emerged. He gently pushed Sheppard aside and stared at the sky. "It comes. And it come early!"

"This is good, right?"

"For now, yes." His focus turned to the people. He watched with the intensity of one overseeing crucial activities, and grabbed Sheppard by the shoulder. "I require your assistance."

"Sure."

"Before rains comes a windstorm. It is enough to blow all of the tents away. We have but a few hours."

Sheppard frowned, looking at the tents that made up the settlement. "What do I need to do?"

"Non-essential must come down. Others are secured."

"Non-essential being . . ."

"Most of the settlement."

"Not very encouraging, is it?"

"We have but a few hours." He started off, but Sheppard caught him.

"Wait, wait, wait, where do we go when this storm hits?"

"Follow the people. We have a shelter." Brouk hurried off, barking orders, some understood, some alien to him.

"I'll never understand this galaxy," he muttered, and rushed back to his own tent.


	5. Chapter 5

The winds came that night, menacing and violent, whipping the sands around in a deadly grit that invaded the nostrils and clogged the lungs. Their protection was meager, and Sheppard had his doubts about it lasting. It turned out there were several shelters, which were nothing more than covered trenches. Sheppard afforded himself the occasional glance outside, noticing the odd, orange color; apparently the moon had risen above the meager cloud cover and was trying to shine through the swirling dust. The moon, rather than being silver, was blood red, the sky echoing the pained conditions of the land; parched, dry, and brutal. There was no real sky, no real air other than what they breathed behind their face cloths. The planet had simply risen up and howled to the heavens.

Sheppard glanced at Rodney. The man looked scared, but not an "god I'm gonna die" kind of scared. More a being in a tiny place full of people scared. He was trying his hardest to pull every joint in his body towards his ribcage, rather like a curled Roly-poly. His right hand held the cloth to his nose, the fingers of his left hand tapped impatiently on his knee. He wasn't looking around, instead he rocked back and forth, every so slightly, his eyes fixed to a spot on the ground before him. His mind had wandered to a safe place, probably where those damn conductors were, and Sheppard had no problem with that.

He wished his mind would do something similar.

The noise reminded him of the hurricanes he had to endure as a child. That constant, unnatural wailing of wind that went on for hours without letting up still haunted his dreams. It wasn't that he was afraid of storms, in fact meteorology had been a hobby of his for a while, not enough to get really serious, but enough to track the big storms that came through and withhold some basic knowledge. He knew about hurricanes, how they formed, all that . . . but it was the sound that stayed with him. Like a beast in eternal pain, or giving a changeless, baleful sigh.

And it kept on, and on, and on . . .

The storm that had hit Atlantis had been bad on so many levels. First, it was the wind. Just as constant, though not as loud, simply because there wasn't as much for it to blow by. Then it was the waves, the way they rose to levels that made him lurch just to think about, and he just knew the city would fall, pulled under by a giant, watery claw. And of course there was Koyla and his freakish antics, and how he nearly succeeded in taking over the city. And hurt Rodney. And nearly escaped with Elizabeth as a prisoner. And every time the wind kicked up in his face, he remembered being on the balcony, screaming over the raging noise into his radio, begging for Elizabeth's life, knowing Rodney would be next to die, and cursing the storm for once again being a hindrance instead of a help.

Yeah, he didn't care for the wind too much.

Sheppard held his cloth to his nose and carefully stepped past the people crammed into the long trench like sardines. There was just enough room to move around, but it wasn't advisable.

Rodney didn't look up. Heavy lids had closed over his blue eyes, and he was now rock steady. Sheppard figured he was in that place where only Rodney's mind was capable of taking him, and left him to it. Instead he squeezed in beside him, sitting shoulder to shoulder, and forced himself to relax. And if Rodney happened to inch just the tiniest bit closer to him, well, surely he imagined it.

The problem with unpredictable storms is the whole unpredictability thing. Sheppard knew Brouk had said the rains was coming sooner than he thought. He had assumed there would be plenty of time between the sand storm and the rains. So when the first crack of thunder sounded overhead and unleashed a surge or water that poured though the tunnels and washed the people into him, to say he was surprised was an understatement.

-----------------------------------------------

Rodney couldn't breathe. He could reach out and feel almost everything, because everything was sliding past him. Cloth, hands, feet, legs, muddy globs of sand, all hit his hands and battered his body, sliding sideways with him. It was very like drowning in a mudslide. He couldn't even swim, everything was too thick. Flailing about was pretty useless. Hell, the whole situation was useless. He could hear the screams, and yet he knew he wasn't hearing screams because his ears were clogged with muck, just like his nostrils. He knew he was screaming in his mind and it was pure instinct that kept him from opening his mouth. But he couldn't breathe, and that scared him the most. His chest was already crying out in panic for oxygen, and he was certain it had a voice as well, and the voice was his, yelling that he didn't want to die on a godforsaken wasteland. Then he realized he was allowing too many thoughts to go through his head, meaning he had been under way too long. Calculations started to run through his head, and he surprised himself by collapsing into analytical thought just before dying.

------------------------------------------------

Sheppard could feel someone on top of him, holding him down, someone who wasn't moving and was keeping him from precious air. He knew they were slowly being washed down the trench, wherever it led to. He had a feeling it was one of the unfinished tributaries that was supposed to bypass an older one and guide the new waters to the edge of the colony so the people wouldn't have so far to walk to obtain their supply. If that was the one, then not only had he reached the end, he was trapped, pressed against the wall with no way out. He sluggishly shoved at the body pinning him, his arms barely able to move, his lungs bursting, and knew he would either pass out or inhale. Neither was a good option.

The body shifted slightly, and he managed to stick a hand out. Air. He felt air, cold, wet air. Somehow just a few feet above him, but he couldn't get there.

He was going to breathe in. He had to.

-------------------------------------------------

He didn't know how. He just knew he was freed, and that it had hurt like hell. He remembered someone gripping him, putting him on his back as he thrashed desperately, holding his hands tight against his torso, and sticking something into each nostril to clear the muck. He sneezed violently for ages, trying hard to gasp in the air that his fighting body was depriving him of. But his nose cleared, he could breathe again, and the coughing fit started. And he remembered one thing, one sensation that sickened him.

The ground had tried to suck him back in. It wasn't enough that it took away the water, it wanted flesh as well.

Rodney rolled onto his stomach and gasped, curling into ball, coughing, sucking in air, coughing more. The ground was freakishly solid compared to what he had been released from. The person that had pulled him out was gone, and all around him he heard screams and wails. The wind was still intense, but not as much, driving the rain into his eyes like straight pins as he pushed onto his elbows and tried to focus. "Colonel?" he rasped. He knew Sheppard has been beside him when the skies broke open and invited hell in. He turned and used his elbows to drag himself through the mud to the edge of the trench. "Colonel!" He coughed again, aware that his yell couldn't be heard over the noise. Trying to look around him was damned near useless. He'd have to wait and hope for the best, because at the moment he wasn't going anywhere.

That was when the hand popped out.

Rodney didn't think. He grabbed it, and pulled.

A sand-filled horror of a creature crawled out, soaked to the bone, covered with . . . everything. Rodney stared at the unrecognizable form for a moment in the obscuring darkness, with the moon peeking out only to see what havoc was wrecked before hiding once more behind the clouds. It wasn't until the other hand gripped his firmly that he realized who he had rescued. "Colonel?"

Sheppard nodded. He was trying to pull himself fully onto the flimsy shore, but was weakened, and slid back in.

Rodney made a frantic grab at him. "No! Nonono! Stay with me, Sheppard! Come on!" A fit of coughing consumed him, and it was all he could do to maintain his grip.

Sheppard's eyes focused, and he again reached up with his other hand. Rodney grabbed on for dear life and pulled.

Another arm emerged from the drek, and a face gasped beside Sheppard, clutching his shirt, pulling at him, tugging him down. Rodney panicked as his grip on Sheppard slipped, and he actually slapped at the intrusion. "Stop it! Wait, I can't pull you both out! Let go!" It was a horrible thing to say, but he wasn't thinking. "Just hang on! I can't, dammit Sheppard, help me here!"

Sheppard still wasn't able to speak, but was well aware of what was going on. And his grip was slipping. His eyes focused on Rodney's, and Rodney balked.

"You're shitting me," he said, shaking his head vigorously. "No fucking way." The grip continued to slid. "You hear me? I said no fucking way!" He yelled over his shoulder in desperation. "HEY! A LITTLE HELP HERE?"

Hands came from nowhere, and pulled him away from the trench. Rodney objected instantly, and stopped as Sheppard and the other man were both lifted from the muck. Sheppard coughed violently as Rodney had, rolling onto his chest and trying to push himself up. Rodney crawled to him, bracing him, looking at the other rescuee. He held on to his friend tightly, and allowed a sigh of relief to escape as he patted Sheppard's back reassuringly.

------------------------------------------

The recovery process was painful. Somehow many of the tents survived the onslaught, some buried underneath the shifted sands, others thrown into trenches for protection. But many were gone for good, which wasn't necessarily a bad thing, considering the morbid thought that there were no longer as many people to occupy them.

Bodies were pulled from the three trenches that had served as shelters. Most were buried at the end of the trench McKay and Sheppard had found themselves in, suffocated underneath the mudslide, or drowned before getting there. Around them the wailing of the stricken was as disturbing as the howling of the wind, the same monotone, the same grief.

Sheppard had no qualms about getting the bodies out. Once he had sufficiently recovered, his hand were plunging into the muck, searching slowly for a body. Some were pulled out by their hands, some by their feet. Rodney finally joined in, and they worked together, yet apart. It wasn't until a small arm presented itself, lifeless, and Rodney pulled the tiny girl from the mud, that Sheppard realized the effect the catastrophe was having on his friend. He stared at the small body, his mouth working silently, his eyes tearing. And he slowly pulled her to him, and held her.

Sheppard stopped what he was doing, his own eyes tearing as he watched this hard-assed, selfish, domineering scientist gently rock the dead child back and forth. He didn't stop until the mother arrived, screaming, and tore her away from him. He sat still for a moment, then simply stood, and walked away.

And Sheppard let him go.

Dawn broke. The suns were as red as the moon had been, and the air was thick. Bodies were lined up beside the trench, each one covered in muddy-white cloth. All together, there were one hundred and twenty-two, averaging to roughly a fourth of the colony's population.

Sheppard's task was to assist in completely filling in one side of a trench that lay half a mile from the city. It was fairly new, and connected to nothing. It would be shortened, and used as a mass grave.

He still hadn't seen Rodney.

Eight other men worked with him. He didn't bother to find out their names, and they left him alone, except for the odd glance. In fact, if he got too near, they would edge down from him, keeping their distance. That hadn't happened before, and he was finding himself wondering if they held him responsible somehow, being an alien to them and all. It was obvious that this particular storm wasn't of the typical fare, and now there were less people to work. And less to water, but still. He saw how greedily the planet sucked the moisture away from the people. With the sun up only a few hours, the massive storm had left nothing behind. The tributaries were holding but a smatter of water, the smoothed sides preventing the moisture from escaping so quickly. People were manning the pumps; large, metal machines that sucked water from the tributaries and dumped it into large glass barrels. Later, the water would be run through a sifter over and over to help purify it.

About forty barrels were filled.

The bodies were buried by the evening. Every surviving member of the colony helped, and every surviving member of the colony was present for a mass gathering at the grave, children included.

Word were said above the mournful wails. Many children had died, crushed by the weight of the people over them. If there was one thing Sheppard had noticed, it was the way the colony had taken pride in their young. Mothers yelled and shook their fists at the suns overhead, cursing the god for making their lives so hard, and for taking the life-fulfilling waters from them as well as their children. For slowly killing their planet.

It was more than Sheppard could stand. He crept away to his tent, then to Rodney's.

The man was in neither.

Now he was seriously worried. He had no idea where to look for his friend, there weren't many places for him to go. Unless he struck out on foot for the jumper, which was possible, but not very probable. Of course with the state of mind he was in, any escape was a good one. Sheppard wandered the colony, looking for signs of Rodney's whereabouts, and found nothing.

Brouk caught up with him about an hour later, as the crowds sadly dispersed. "I want to thank you for your assistance," he said sincerely.

"Yeah, I was . . ." he almost said 'glad to help', but really . . . "I don't suppose you've seen Rodney anywhere, have you?"

Brouk slowly shook his dark head. "I have not. He was not . . ." he couldn't bring himself to ask, and rather sheepishly pointed to the long mound in the distance.

"Huh? Oh, no. No, he survived. Pulled a young girl out, and couldn't take it anymore."

"It was a hard thing to do."

"Haven't seen him since."

"Sometimes a man must cope in his own way, deal with the situation as he sees fit," Brouk said, hesitating just outside his own tent, which was half supported by long staffs, "I would give him a little more time. If he does not appear by morning, we will search."

"I'm thinking he may have gone back to the jumper."

Brouk frowned. "Understandable, but not wise. We shall see." And with that, he gave a nod of dismissal and entered.

Sheppard stared at the flap for a moment, and moved on.


	6. Chapter 6

Sheppard's wanderings eventually took him back to the mass grave. The mound was a good seventy feet long, with bodies crammed in on top of each other. Images of them piling up reminded him of the shows he'd seen about the mass graves under Hitler's reign, bodies on top of bodies left behind to decay and mix. It had disgusted him then, and he felt no better now.

But there was one view that gave him peace of mind. It was a figure, slumped over, sitting at the edge of the mound. Rodney.

He wanted to hurry to him. Instead, he walked slowly, with measured steps, not wanting to startle his friend or inflict his presence where it wasn't wanted. And he said nothing as he stood a little ways behind him, knowing that Rodney was fully aware of his arrival. He waited.

When Rodney spoke, it was in a voice as unsure as anything he had ever heard, and a tone that hung all wrong on the brilliant astrophysicist, like a disheveled coat. "Couldn't help them. All they wanted some damn water, and it was the water that killed them." There was a moment of silence. "I, uh," he flung a handful of sand from him, "I had to get away. I'm sorry I left you with it, but . . . I couldn't do it." There was regret, and a little embarrassment to add salt to his wound.

Sheppard shuffled closer, his hands sunk deep into the long pockets in his pants. "S'okay. I figured as much. Where'd you go?"

Rodney gave a shaky intake of breath. "To the jumper, believe it or not. Or I was."

"I kinda thought you would." Sheppard took the opportunity to sit beside him.

"That predictable, huh?" Rodney snorted and shook his head. "Can't believe this. I've traveled two galaxies, fought against the Wraith, survived a jumper crash, or four; now look at me."

"Now that's enough," Sheppard said angrily. "Last thing I'm gonna do is sit here and listen to is you berate yourself for having an emotional breakdown. Christ, welcome to the human race."

Rodney blinked as the words sunk in, and slowly turned to Sheppard. "What – what the hell is that supposed to mean?"

"It means, get over yourself! So you couldn't handle it! Big deal!" Sheppard was startled by his own tone, and by the violent emotion that suddenly burned in his chest. "If there's one thing I can't stand, it's seeing someone get all worked up because they've discovered they have a heart!"

"I'm not . . . that's not it!"

"Then what is it?"

"I don't know!" He looked angry and confused. "Why are you yelling at me?"

"Why are you being so fucking obstinate?" Sheppard rose to his knees, facing Rodney. "You want me to feel sorry for you? Huh? Is that why you ran off? Poor ole Rodney couldn't handle seeing the dead crowding around him, because it wasn't _analytical_ enough, so his brain shut down!"

"You – _fucking_ bastard!" His last judicial thoughts, when he was certain he was going to die in the trench, came back and bit him hard on the ass.

"Well? Answer me! You couldn't handle the emotional baggage, so instead you wimp out! Is that what you think?"

"Yes!"

"THEN I HAVE NO FUCKING SYMPATHY FOR YOU!"

Rodney lunged, and found himself twisted flat onto his back, with an enraged colonel hovering him, holding his wrists, forcing the man's full attention on his words.

"You listen, and you listen good," Sheppard said, his voice low as he leaned over Rodney, "I never, _ever_ want you to run again. You got that? If you can't handle it, dammit, you tell me. Then you can walk away, I'll even show you the quickest way out. But _never_ run again. Got it?"

"And just where were you, huh?" Rodney spat.

"I WAS IN THE FUCKING DITCH BESIDE YOU."

That sunk. Rodney's face fell, and his struggles eventually slackened. Everything seemed to leave him.

Sheppard released his wrists and sat back. He watched Rodney close his eyes tightly, pressing the heels of his hands to them while controlling his breathing, calming himself. "So . . ." he said slowly, "you okay now?"

Rodney lay motionless. "Not really, no."

Sheppard nodded. "Good." And he resumed his seat beside his friend, not moving.

----------------------------------------------------

The people came for them, in Rodney's half secured tent, the next morning.

Sheppard wasn't surprised. Rodney was, and objected strongly as his hand were forced behind his back and tied, just as they were when he and the colonel first arrived at Satureen. They were marched to Brouk's tent with some ceremony, caused by the crowd of onlookers that insisted on following them, surrounding them, muttering in their converted language so that some words were caught, but not all. They chuckled gently in anticipation as the men were shoved inside, and huddled around the flap as best as they could.

"Seems they're looking for a show," Sheppard muttered. He kept his back straight, refusing to allow the circumstance to intimidate him. His shoulders were tight, but he'd suffer it in the name of pride.

Brouk was lounging in his chair. In one hand he held a whip, which was used to get the attention of the people in the trenches, not so much for abusiveness. The sharp crack sounding above would resonate like a shot through the trench, and saved the need to yell. His eyes gazed upon the bound men lazily. "We seem to have a dilemma," he said.

"You think?" Sheppard asked, sarcastically.

Brouk stood. "It seems the people blame you for the suddenness and unpredictability of the rains that nearly destroyed us." He gestured to Rodney. "They have heard you talk, and have seen you with the drawings." He gestured toward the sky with his whip. "They believe you conjured this."

Rodney blanched. "What? Oh sure, I just managed to find a diving rod and pointed it to the sky! How could I possibly . . ."

"'How' does not enter into it. They wish to see reparations."

"Reparations?" His chin was firm, and it was obvious that, although he asked, he didn't want an answer.

Brouk smiled and stood before him. "It has been decided that they two of you will traverse the cavern to the east of the village. You will find this geyser, as you call it. You will release the water."

Rodney almost smiled. "You're kidding."

Brouk shrugged. "Or you will die, and your blood will feed the land. Maybe it will acquire a new taste, other than water."

"Oh, that's just a bad idea all over." Sheppard was watching the way Brouk lovingly caressed the whip, the way he hovered just in front of Rodney. While he had never seen the man use violence, the action made him suddenly uneasy. "Sacrifices to gods never amount to much. But you know, if you had just let us return to our jumper in the first place . . ."

"And how do I know you would have held true to your word?"

"We have held true to our word!" Sheppard took a step forward. "We've been in the trenches! We helped saved your people when they were drowning, we helped to bury the dead! What the hell do you want from us?"

Again, Brouk smiled. "And how do I know you are not, in fact, responsible for what happened?"

It was a no-win situation. Sheppard straightened and looked at Rodney, and said nothing.

"Yes," Brouk continued, "I agree with the people. I believe it is best that you find this water that will restore our planet, so that this disaster will never happen again."

"And how do we know we won't be killed underground by your men, hm?" Rodney asked.

Brouk looked surprised. "My men? No. However the feelings amongst the people are strong. I can order them to guarantee your safety here, but once away from the colony . . ." he shrugged, and resumed his seat.

"So you do run things here." Sheppard said. "You are the Tal'Ran."

"The Tal'Ran is everywhere."

"So you've said," Rodney muttered. "Fine. We'll go, but we can't go like this." He turned and jutted his tied wrists.

Brouk smiled once again, and Sheppard realized he was growing increasingly uneasy with it. "Very well. You will set off at once. I have supplies set aside for you." He released their bonds, tossed two packs at them, and waited.

The people outside parted as Rodney and Sheppard exited, with Brouk behind them, and they followed them in a mass exodus to the edge of the colony. Toward the horizon lay numerous entrances to numerous caverns, none of which they had ventured into. Rodney checked his pack and found his hand-drawn maps, along with food supplies. Sheppard's held the piss drink. Brouk said nothing, but his eyes seemed friendly enough. It was possible that he did wish them well, and was holding out due to the anger of his people, who, it seemed, were eager for them to leave as they followed them as far as their leader would allow before being called back.

"Think they want to make sure we're going?" Rodney asked.

"Or they're plotting a course to our imminent destruction," Sheppard answered, and stopped Rodney by putting a firm hand on his shoulder. "Truthfully, now. Does this thing exist?"

"Without actually having seen it?"

"Rodney?"

The response was a firm nod. "Yes."

"And you can find it."

"Now see, that might be a problem." He glanced at the mob behind him. "But I think I'll wait until we're in the mouth of the cave to get our bearings, huh?"

"Onward into the belly of the beast." Sheppard walked on, not seeing the smirk on Rodney's face.


	7. Chapter 7

The caverns were . . . caverns. There was nothing really alien-esque about them, not yet anyway, except that they seemed very, very dry. At the mouth of the cave the walls actually crumbled to the touch. Further in, they seemed more stable, and even further and deeper, they started to smooth much like the walls of the fortified trenches. Sheppard had noticed how wide the mouth of the caves were, and theorized that the rush of rain waters must cause the erosion that weakened the inner rock structure. All of the sediment rushing in would work and smooth the walls. Rodney simply theorized that, the smoother the walls, the closer the water source. Sheppard wasn't sure if that was totally accurate, but it sounded good. So they were looking for very smooth tunnels while walking in a descending fashion. And he had a good sharp stone, and was marking every twist and turn they made. He had been doing that for a good two hours.

They had torches. They had food supplies. They had a map. All they needed now was a clue.

Rodney was becoming steadily frustrated with the hike. "And so here we are, ladies and gentlemen, and if you look to your right, you'll see . . . absolutely nothing of interest! To your left, you will observe, rock. To the right, rock. Overhead there appears to be more rock of the rock variety, and unless I am very much mistaken, the material at our feet looks suspiciously like rock as well."

"Can it, McKay."

"Of course you do have your meager varieties. You have red rock," he picked up a rock and tossed it over his shoulder, "dark red rock," he repeated the action, "not-quite-as-dark-as-the-second-but-darker-than-the-first rock . . ."

"McKay! For god's sake!"

"What? Am I boring you?" He stuck his face into Sheppard's, huffed, and walked past him.

"Why don't you look at a map or something?"

"I have looked at the maps. They have been scrutinized, analyzed, memorized, and subsequently categorized as useless!" He flipped out the pages from his pocket. "We haven't been down here. Ever. We have no idea where to go. This map only marks the way to these caverns, not so much the tunnels themselves. And this," he produced another piece of paper, "which is supposed to chart the tunnels that they have explored is, guess what? Useless! Why? Because this tunnel isn't one of the afore mentioned explored tunnels!"

Sheppard had stopped, and his eyes glinted in the torch light. "So we're trail-blazing. I thought you said you could find this thing?"

"I said I could find the cavern." He hastily rolled the maps and stuck them back in his pocket. "I said nothing about water."

Sheppard stopped. "That is NOT what you said, Rodney!"

"Well, forgive me for a slight exaggeration!"

"You LIED."

"I did not lie! How can I possibly lie about something like this? It's not like I'm trying to get us lost or don't want to find the thing! And may I remind you that I was in no way prepared to come down here today! I have this," he unfolded another paper, "which may or may not map out three of the tunnels down here, but guess what? These tunnels," he pointed, "are not this tunnel," he gestured, "so therefore this tunnel," he pointed, "is useless! Just like these maps!"

Sheppard knew the situation was pretty hopeless. With hundreds of miles of underground passages, there was no way they could just go and find what they were looking for. On the other hand, they couldn't exactly leave, not with the large men that had followed them, and were possibly waiting outside to make sure they didn't sneak away. "They could've given us a guide or something, someone who knows the way down here."

Rodney hastily refolded the maps. "They want us to die. That's all there is to it."

"It does seem that way. Guess they don't believe in this water geyser after all."

"Do you?" Rodney's face was tense, his expression showing he feared the answer he knew was coming.

Sheppard recognized the look. "I think . . . maybe . . . your presumption was a bit hasty."

"Oh, come _on_," Rodney's arms fell to his side as he rolled his eyes. "How could it be anything else?"

"Exactly."

"No, Einstein, I mean the geyser! You have another explanation seeing as how they have a water cycle, yet no surface water to speak of?"

"To produce a storm like we saw, you're talking about a geyser that has to be hundreds and hundreds of feet high throwing out thousands and thousands of metric tons of water! You're talking about a reverse Niagra Falls!"

"Yes, precisely!"

"Well, pardon me if I'm a little dubious!" Rodney growled in frustration and pushed past Sheppard, but he wasn't finished. "I suppose you have this all worked out too," he said, following. "I bet there's some kind of underground lake that sits on a huge . . ." he searched for a word with his hands, "magma chamber. And when heated enough, the water suddenly jets through this funneled area, pushing enough moisture out to cause condensation and clouds and the lot."

Rodney turned in astonishment, and stopped. "You amaze me sometime, Colonel. How did you guess?"

"Oh, for the love of . . ." this time Sheppard was the one who pushed past.

But Rodney wasn't letting it go. "Seriously! How did you guess?"

"I read sci-fi, Rodney. Let it go."

"This is my thinking." Rodney tried his hardest to walk shoulder to shoulder with Sheppard, but the continually restrictive area prevented it. "Depending on the lay of the land, these tunnels have to channel the water. The water has to be going somewhere. The deeper we go, the better the chance of finding this underground lake."

"And the better our chance of getting lost."

"What, you aren't leaving bread crumbs behind?"

"Rodney . . ."

"Hey, I'm as capable of using humor to control my panic as the next guy, all right? Now just let me concentrate."

Sheppard sighed and made another mark on the wall as the tunnel shifted and turned to the right.

"Besides," Rodney continued, "despite what they think, this body of water can't be that far away. I mean, it's not on the other side of the planet or anything."

"Well, that's good news."

"Of course it is!"

"And why do you think this?"

"Because it rained here." He kept walking, and stopped when he sensed a lack of motion behind him. He turned with a smirk. "You don't get it."

"Heat must've got to my brain."

Rodney sighed. "Simple meteorology. Didn't you have to take a course in meteorology in order to be able to pilot?"

"I took a course anyway, because I like weather." Sheppard's face cleared. "Ah. You think it's nearby because the rain had time to get here and empty a deluge of water. It didn't have time to evaporate in the extreme heat."

"Bingo."

"Well, that_ is_ good news."

"Of course it is." Rodney smirked again and turned, then stopped as a distant noise sent chills up his spine. "What was that?"

Sheppard had stopped as well, and tilted his torch around, his eyes following the flame. "I don't know, but I don't like it."

"Didn't Brouk say there were creatures in these caves?" His confidence had bled away.

"Yeah, now that you mention it."

"Oh god." Rodney's voice broke slightly, and he leaned against a large rock.

"Now don't start that. Just because we heard one doesn't mean it's coming." The noise sounded again, this time closer.

"Oh yeah! Great! Why don't you yell next time and see if it comes any closer?"

"I wasn't being loud! You're the one being loud!"

"Well forgive me for expressing some anxiety here!"

"What did I just tell you?"

"_Since when do I start listening to you_?"

The growl vibrated the rocks surrounding them. Sheppard swung his torch around until he found a large fissure, and shoved Rodney inside. "How 'bout now. Stay put."

"Where are you going?"

"We can't both fit in here! I'll just, uh . . ." he spun and cursed as the growl deepened, just behind him. The light dimmed, and went out.


	8. Chapter 8

Rodney froze in his spot, unable to breathe, refusing to call out to Sheppard no matter how desperately he wanted to. Sweat beaded on his forehead and dripped into his eyes, but there was no way in hell he was raising a hand to wipe it away. He didn't even want to inhale. He settled for rapid blinking, every other part of his body as still as the stone that surrounded him. It didn't help, and he ventured to slowly, ever so slowly, raise a hand to his brow.

How the creature managed to hear him, he had no clue. Maybe it had a built in motion detector, some sort of alien radar, or very large invisible antennae. The small area which confined him filled with hot, putrid breath, and a snarl so vicious that Rodney couldn't help but shriek in response. The fact that the mouth seemed level with his head wasn't the best of news.

There was a deep growl, seeming to come from the depths of hell itself, and the creature lunged.

Rodney yelled out and pressed himself as far back as he was able, barely out of reach of the gaping jaws. He couldn't see, but he could sense the bulk of the beast, hear the gnashing of the teeth, taste the breath. "Shoo! Go on! Get outta here . . ." The creature howled at him as one well-aimed punch landed on the long muzzle. Angered, it pushed further in, snapping, spittle flying.

"Shit!" Rodney shrieked, pinned in the corner, batting at the beast as best he could while somehow managing to avoid the snarling jowls. "_Colonel_!"

"Rodney!" He could just hear the voice, but had no clue where it was coming from.

"Sheppard!" Teeth grabbed his sleeve, pulling at the fabric before he yanked it away. The material tore and teeth once again latched onto his arm. "Help me!" Oh god. . .

"Hang on!"

"_Help me_!"

He didn't know what happened or how, but the creature let go with a sickening tear, and turned.

His head was pounding. His heart would explode. Then everything was dimmed by adrenaline, as he watched an amber light bouncing off into the distance. He stumbled out of his hideaway, calling for Sheppard, hearing the creature bellow after his friend. Blood trickled down his arm, but couldn't see to bind the wound. "Sheppard!" He was alone, in the dark, his friend was being hunted, and he couldn't even see to go after him.

He felt along the wall and headed in the direction where he last saw the fading light.

-------------------------------------------

Sheppard heard the cry behind him, knew Rodney was still alive, and counted his blessings. Then he ran like hell.

It took only one good swing to get the wolf's attention, and it was more than happy to release his prey for closer fare, the smell of fresh blood notwithstanding. Sheppard could see the wet muzzle in the torch light and hear scrabbling from Rodney's position. The fool man would come out, which dimmed the chances of a successful rescue. So he swatted at the wolf once again, and ran for his life. "Come on, you ass! Come get me!" He heard a persistent howl behind him, and stumbled. "That's Mr. Gingerbread Man to you, asshole," he muttered, then caught himself, remembering how the story ended, though if it meant finding a river to cross, he'd risk it.

The wolf was huge. And fast. And huge. Too damn huge . . . and it took a well timed dive to avoid those crushing jaws, only to feel paws on his back the size of dinner plates, to feel a grip on his neck, and to pray.

And the tremor hit.

The wolf actually stopped, perched on Sheppard's back. It growled once more, then gave a slight whimper. He heard his name called around chopped curses, and knew Rodney was now in the path of the beast. Dammit. . ."Rodney! Get out of here!"

"Sheppard! You okay?" The discarded torch rose, still lit, and the shock on Rodney's face said it all. He saw Rodney grit his teeth and approach, swinging the torch in front of him and yelling.

And another tremor hit.

This time the wolf tucked tail and slumped off, galloping down the tunnel.

"Shit," Rodney muttered. "Shitshitshit!" He bent over Sheppard, who was shakily pushing himself to his feet. "You okay?"

"When I say get out, I mean get out!" Sheppard patted himself over, but other than a few gouges, he seemed fine. Rodney was a different story, however, and Sheppard sudied his arm. "We need to find our packs, get the first aid kit."

"Back there." The cave shook once again, and wide eyes met wide eyes. "You know, I'm not liking this all that much."

"Me neither. Let's get the packs."

Dressing the wound was easy enough. Seeing it was the hard part.

And the next tremor knocking them off of their feet didn't help.

A rumble sounded, like heavy rocks in a large tumbler. Rodney didn't have time to think. He was lifted to his feet, his pack and the extra torch shoved into his hand, and was pushed to run. The hand on his back urged him on, and he slid, feeling the vibrations of a huge rumble behind him. He continued to run, past the jutting rocks, going downwards, spilling over onto sharp points that rivaled the teeth of the cave wolves. The fear of being run through with stone battled with the fear of being buried alive, and the tunnel took a dip to the side, and he fell . . .

----------------------------------------------

He'd never known such darkness.

Now he knew why Rodney was so claustrophobic. It wasn't fun.

In fact, he had been surprised that the man hadn't complained any more than he had. It was possibly that a sense of fatality had covered him; knowing he couldn't go back, and yet at the same time wanting desperately to prove he was right about the geyser. Sheppard had survival skills, could decipher a map, and yet the ones that Rodney carried with him were meaningless, like a child's scribble. He remembered how Rodney's notes covered them, his scrawl not helping matters much. In truth, Rodney's handwriting was rather elegant when he took the time to breathe between words. His hurried note-taking was impossible.

He knew the man used to play the piano. It had slipped out in conversation once. And he believed it after watching those expressive hands and long fingers. He claimed his piano teacher said he had no soul, that he was all technique. Sheppard found that hard to believe. The man had the heart and soul of a warrior, well, he was getting there. Either way, just watching the passion with which he talked and did his job, it was hard to believe it didn't translate into notes on a keyboard. Rodney should have found another teacher.

It was these meager thoughts that kept him from going mad as he slowly dug at the wall in front of him.

Much easier to analyze others than oneself. Hell, he was already familiar with his own memories and feelings, of his travels and constant moving, his southern roots and northern upbringing. His family, cousins, schooling, more schooling, frat parties, football . . . if he had stuck to it, he could've been a pro player. Flying was a second love to him. Nothing like being on a field with your buddies, and the bad guys running at you as you run backwards and catch the pigskin from a perfect arch, and then you are the target of everyone on that field, your team mates, the opposing team, the crowds in the stands, the coaches, bands, and with luck, the cheerleaders. And you hurl yourself through obstacles that fling themselves in your path, seeing your buddies clear the way for you as you run for the field goal, your objective so clear before you, with nearly everyone cheering you on.

Great game.

And why didn't he do it? Who knew. Chalk it up to one of those "could have been but wouldn't be" situations. When the Air Force came calling his junior year, he studied the pamphlet that promised team work and a good future, saw his coach on the other side of the room, and signed on the dotted line.

And he didn't regret a moment of it.

He wondered if Rodney regretted his decision. Both men were doing what they enjoyed, he was working in a team environment overcoming obstacles, and Rodney was, in his own way, still being an artist.

Funny how things worked out.

He had to stop moving. The air was thick, and while he was used to the heat, _more_ used to the heat, rather, it was rapidly approaching stifling. His little hole was barely large enough to stand in, he had to crouch slightly. It was a fissure that was only slightly larger than the one he had pushed Rodney into, and the entrance was packed in with rocks of all sizes. He could stand, almost, and turn in a solitary circle. Squatting pressed his knees right against the wall before him. And the problem with shifting the rocks was two-fold, either he really had no place to put the discarded rocks, or he risked the whole wall caving in on top of him. Or he could just sit there and suffocate.

Pick and choose, pick and choose.

One by one the rocks moved. And he tried not to think about how he now had no light, no pack (it was somewhere underneath the wall), no air, and practically no chance.

Obstacles, huh. Obstacles _sucked_.


	9. Chapter 9

There wasn't a part of him that didn't hurt, which was a pity, because he had actually been better off not realizing there were so many bits of him subject to pain. The next time he heard someone say they hurt everywhere, he would definitely sympathize and get them a glass of water or something. Even the piss drink would be good right now, but Sheppard had those.

Rodney managed to raise his head slightly, eyes squinting in the dark as though to focus through it. He lay stiffly on his back, feeling bruised through. There was no way to know how long he had been laying there after his little tumble. No way of knowing just where he was. And as his hoarse calling showed, there was no way to tell were Sheppard was, either.

He hadn't fallen far. He figured that, because he was alive and unbroken.

Sheppard hadn't followed him. That was obvious.

And he could raise his head.

Well. That was something, anyway.

He grunted as he pushed carefully onto his elbows, grunted louder as he sat up and gingerly felt his sore head. Some blood, nothing serious. He wasn't dizzy, just disoriented. Legs were movable, arms didn't bend in odd directions. Neck was fine, back was sore as hell, but an experimental twist to the left and right proved the pain was only muscle deep. Pushing to his feet was an adventure. And then all he could do was stand in the dark. He was understandably leery about walking around in case there was another pitfall. He raised his arms to the side to get a better idea of his proximity to _anything_, and felt nothing. One sandaled foot slid forward, then the other. He shuffled like a baby until his hands found the smooth surface of the cave wall, and he let out his breath and slumped in relief.

But that relief was nothing compared to his feelings when a light started to flicker just over head.

"Colonel?" Rodney pushed away from the wall, his gaze directed to an area a good seventeen feet above him.

"Is that Rodney?" The accent flowed into the chamber like a soothing breeze. He couldn't believe it.

"Yes! I'm down here!" The light brightened, and his surroundings lit in orange flame. Not much to see, really, other than the way out was really, really up there. "What the hell are you doing here? Not that I'm not glad to see you, don't take that wrong."

"We decided you might require assistance." The man who had led them to the cave, smiled, leaning in over the hole on his stomach.

Rodney gave a little laugh. "Yeah, well, got that right. So how about getting me out of here, huh?" A thought struck him. "You, uh, haven't by any chance seen Colonel Sheppard, have you?"

"Why? Have you lost him?"

"We got separated."

"A shame. These caverns will eat people alive if not careful."

"Actually I think it's the Uber-wolves that will do that."

He smiled. "You've seen the Valklanan?"

"Yes, yes, Red Riding Hood and all that." He jumped back as a rope landed with a thump at his feet. He stared at the intrusion in astonishment. "Rope? You get a rope? We didn't get rope!"

"You climb."

Rodney regarded the man with some disdain, and decided since he was being rescued it would be better not to make a fuss over the whole packing issue. He grabbed the rope with one hand, and hesitated. "I'm not exactly iron man of the year."

"You climb."

"What I'm saying is, you might have to actually pull me out."

"You climb."

"Damned alien potheads," he muttered, and reached as high up as he could for a firm grip.

Physical education had been his least favorite subject in school. He saw the whole moving about for moving's sake as a waste of time. It wasn't until he had been stationed in Russia that he actually showed an interest in maintaining any sort of physical stamina or regime, and that was largely due to frigid temperatures and boredom. Even then he did just enough to get by, to keep his frame from getting too out of hand. On Atlantis he was forced through Sheppard and Teyla's combat scenarios, but even then it was enough to get by, which drove Sheppard insane. "McKay, you've got it in you," Sheppard would say, his words weighty with exasperation, "so do it already!" As Rodney gave himself a haul upwards, it was obvious he needed to do more than just get by from now on.

He pulled himself up, wrapping his legs around the rope at the knees, locking his slick-soled sandals onto the odd material. The shimmy he executed was quite possibly the most embarrassing thing he had ever been unfortunate enough to witness himself perform, and there was no way he would breathe a word of it to any living soul. But somehow it got him up, all seventeen feet, which wasn't really all that much unless you were counting inches.

Of course the footholds were at the top. Rodney latched on, felt hands grab his arms, and rolled over onto his back. Breathing heavily wasn't replenishing the oxygen supply rapidly enough. Anxiety took hold and helped push him to his feet. "Sheppard," he said, "we have to find him."

The man's expression was contemplative. There was a movement in shadow behind him. "I understand more than you know. But first, we must talk."

Rodney already had one foot ready to head away from the conversation. "About what?"

"You."

He blinked. "Excuse me?"

And without any warning, they charged.

Rodney reacted before he realized what he was doing.

He spun and managed to block a fist, getting in a good punch of his own. He pushed the man away as another rounded on him, wrapping his arms tight around his body. Rodney struggled then fell to his side onto the ground, making sure the bulk of his weight landed on the man who held him. Winded, he was released, only to have the first man rush at him. On his back, he stuck his foot out, nailing the man in the gut and shoving him aside.

These tiny victories lasted only a moment. The man beside him pounced before he could rise, pinning Rodney flat to the hard rock, crushing his chest, his arms trapped by the knees of his enemy. His injury, which had been dulling a bit pain-wise, flared into recognition, and he screamed out before he could stop himself. Rodney struggled, for what it was worth, and it wasn't worth much, especially once he saw the fiery glint of a glass blade hovering just above his left eye. He forced himself still, gritting his teeth angrily.

This man he instantly recognized as the one who troubled him in the trenches, the one who was so protective of Lydya. The one who had watched him through days of toil. The one who had spoken to him only once, and the one he trusted about as far as he could throw a jumper.

This man smiled, and it wasn't friendly. "So," he boomed, "we meet again."

_I hate this fucking cave._ "You've been following us."

"Obviously."

He grunted, forcing air into his lungs. "Why?"

"It is simple. I wish to see this rush of water that reaches the sky."

"Look, I'm no idiot. I can read between the lines. You want the credit for saving your people."

The man gave an amused, one-shouldered shrug. "Is that a bad thing if everyone benefits?"

Rodney managed to raise his head, staring his captor in the eyes. "It is when the person in question believes he can lay claim to it and control it." He wheezed painfully, but continued in a harsh voice, "I've seen your type, hell, I've worked with them. Bunch of bureaucratic crap."

"You will show us."

"And if I don't?"

"Then we will be sitting here for a very long time while your friend runs out of air."

It took a moment for that thought to register. When it did, Rodney paled, and his already sore stomach clenched. "Sheppard? You've seen him!"

"Yes."

"Then he's alive, he's. . .wait . . . what have you done with him?"

"Not I. It was the cavern. Apparently he was not meant to continue with you on your little journey."

"You call this little?" It took a moment to put two and two together. "He's trapped, isn't he? Where?"

Again, the casual shrug. "I cannot say, anymore than you can show me where this rush of water is."

Rodney gave a sudden push, and yelled out in frustration when he found he couldn't move any part of him but his head. "Did you do it?" he gasped. The man wasn't getting any lighter.

"Like I said. The cavern is responsible."

"It was that damned creature. He's such an ass." Pain laced Rodney's voice, and he closed his eyes. "No, wait, the tremors. He was pushing me to run, and I . . ."

"Ahh, yes," the man sympathized. "And now here you are, playing verbal games while he slowly suffocates." His slow way of speaking was threatening. "Or, you can simply do as we ask."

There was no option. Rodney gave a nod as best as he could, and waited, expecting the weight to lift. It didn't. "I can't exactly go anywhere like this, you do realize that, right?"

The man said nothing, just stared at a point in the distance. It took Rodney a moment to realize the light was changing slightly, growing brighter, and he heard steps. A friendly, familiar voice soothed the sharp walls. "And what have we here? A slanda caught in his tre, perhaps?"

Rodney's brows lifted in astonishment. "Brouk! Oh thank god, listen," he squirmed, expecting the man on him to jump to his feet, "Listen to me, Sheppard's trapped, he may be hurt I don't know, and these goons want me to show them where the geyser is. Like I know, but you can see the difficulty, right?" He smiled, upside down from Brouk's point of view. The smile faded. "Well?"

Brouk walked around and squatted beside Rodney, still pinned beneath the big man. "I see the difficulty, yes. But you can make it so much easier by simply showing us where this - geyser - is."

Rodney's breath quickened painfully. "Oh god, you . . . I don't believe this. I should've seen this coming." He glared at the man on top of him. "And what is it with – would you please get the fuck _off_?"

"You will help us?"

"Yes! I'll fucking help!" He gasped in a lung full of air as the man slowly rose, and turned to his side, coughing, while his brain recovered and started to process the situation. Shakily he pushed himself to a seated position, rolling to one hip and pulling a map from the back of his pants.

"Okay," he said rather dejectedly, once he caught his breath, "here's the deal. Best I can tell there are at least five different tunnels that can lead to this geyser. Now which ones are safe and which ones are not blocked, I can't tell you. All I can do is show you which way to go."

"That is not acceptable. You will go with us."

Rodney barked a laugh as he stood, feeling a rush of confidence, which usually precluded a total breakdown. "'Fraid not, Kemosabe. See, I have this little rescue operation to attempt."

Brouk stepped forward, his inky eyes glinting in the torch flame. "You would abandon our cause, the cause of our people, for that of your companion."

"You better believe it." Rodney threw the map at them and backed away. "Here. Have a blast. And I don't mean figuratively." He turned on his heel.

"Wait." The voice boomed from behind, and Rodney hesitated. Brouk was watching him, and seemed impressed. "It seems we have misjudged you."

"Story of my life. Should I care what you think?"

Brouk lifted his chin. The friendliness Rodney had grown accustomed to was gone, replaced with a very business-like, very cold manner. "You will see a torch in the corridor. Take it. Your friend is not far."

Rodney was breathing heavily. He met Brouk's eyes, and saw the desperation placed there by a dying world. Even if they did rise to control by these means, at least the people would have water. He gave a nod. "Thanks."

"Good luck."

Rodney couldn't bring himself to wish them the same. He merely gave another nod, and made his exit.


	10. Chapter 10

The torch was there, waiting for him. He snatched it up, checked to make certain the flame would burn for a long while, and pressed on, Sheppard's name echoing amongst the rocks.

The shadows danced and jumped around him, making him pause, wondering what figures still hid in the darkness. He swung his torch from side to side, examining the walls for pitfalls, piles of rock, anything but the unnatural smoothness that showed that hundreds if not thousands or years before, water had flowed through here freely and cleared out a lot of debris. "Sheppard?" The word sounded, then was swallowed by the cavern. "You hear me?" He pressed on, cursing himself for ever trying to adjust the navigation system on the jumper, or at the very least, for not checking the flight roster before doing so. He was going to be so careful from now on. His pessimistic mind hit over drive, and he pictured himself standing before the people of Atlantis, his hands clasped before him, his eyes drawn to the casket that was about to be submitted to the pull of the sea . . . _All I wanted was to fly. All he wanted was to fly. We had that in common._

"Dammit!" Rodney braced his hand against the warm wall and gave his head a shake. "Focus, you ass. Sheppard? Can you hear me?" He cursed and walked on, more quickly this time as desperation drove him forward. "Make a habit of saving each other's lives," he muttered. "You know, I thought it was your turn now. I should be trapped somewhere with you looking for me, I think I'd rather that happen, because being on this end sucks! It's just too damn stressful! You're much better at this search and rescue thing than I am. I'm good at panicking." He hissed, his hand slicing open on a sharp rock. "Dammit! See? Between this and that damned uber-Lassie . . . I swear I'm gonna get some kind of unspeakable bacterial infection because I was stupid enough not to go after you, because I was trying to save my own pathetic ass! Of course the people of Atlantis would disagree, I mean I generally manage to save the city in a pinch while you . . . help. . . or go out to get yourself blown up, I mean really, can't you find more creative ways of helping out? This whole going out to get yourself blown up is getting kinda old, you know? Smart man like you should be able to come up with alternate solutions, like surviving a cave-in, I mean, surely you can manage that, right? It isn't my fault you got stuck here. Okay, it is my fault, but you're a resourceful man, you're MENSA, for Christ sake! So figure it out!"

He closed his eyes tightly as the cavern spun around him. "Okay, panic attack, no problem here, just breathe, just breathe, deep in," he inhaled, "all out," he exhaled, "deep in . . . hello, what?" His eyes snapped open, but nothing happened. "Great, now I'm hearing things. That's just fan-fucking-tacular." He pushed away from the support of the rock wall. "First thing that happens when we get back is, you're giving me another flying lesson, without the damn adjustments. I guess it's possible that maybe, just maybe, I jumped the gun on this, because I suppose in retrospect I'm really the only one who has trouble flying the damn thing. I mean, even Everett can fly it and he couldn't piss in a bucket if it were tied to his ankles." Rodney found a familiar path, and took it.

"Didn't tell you. Our friends showed up. Had me face down on the rock and everything, I'll be bruised for months. Seems they want to see this 'rush of water', as they call it, the geyser. Well, with any luck they'll get washed out. Oh, and get this . . . Brouk was there." He stopped and gestured to the walls conversationally. "Yeah! That's what I thought. Turns out he's not much better than the others, but I guess I can't blame him. Not like I haven't acted without considering the consequences myself when a life was on the line, or my own ego . . . you know what, let's not go there. Anyway, they're out there looking for the holy grail, and here I am, talking to rocks." Rodney stopped and looked around desperately. "Don't suppose you managed to scrape a note on your way down. 'Descending here, watch that last step, it's a doozy'." He had to catch his breath. The surroundings were familiar in that he had passed that way once before in his entire life. He recognized a rock formation that looked like a fried egg. "John," he said softly, "god, please, just . . . give me something to go on here." His head hung. And spied a piece of fabric, caught on the sharp edge of a stone.

Rodney snatched it up, studied it, and looked around frantically. "Hey, Sheppard? Can you hear me? Are you here?" He was examining his own clothes as he yelled, his pants and shirt, having discarded his robe earlier. No tears, not that would release a chunk of material that size. But the new mound of debris right behind it could easily be the culprit. He looked overhead and saw where the rocks had shifted and fallen. Now that he noticed it, he could see where it had happened quite often, which made him wonder, where was the older debris? And that was when he realized they needed to get the hell out of there.

"Sheppard?" Rodney propped his torch and bent over the rocks, and started shifting. They were heavy, and he was almost hoping he wouldn't find his friend there. Images of a smashed head, brains sticky on his hands . . . he continued to move the rocks, grunting, cursing, sweating more than he had in years, and that included the time he was attacked by a Wraith. Rock after rock was painfully shifted. And he heard a miracle.

Rodney fell to his knees. "John? Are you there? John!"

The voice was so faint, he thought he was imagining it. "Rodney?"

Oh thank god. "I'm here! I'm getting you out, just . . . hold on!" He shoved the rocks away aggressively, his breathing coming in heavy snatches.

"Careful," he barely heard, "it may fall."

"Are you pinned?" Lift, shove. Forget breathing.

"No. More like walled in."

The voice was so faint. He hated to think how many rocks had to be moved.

"Been clearing. . .from my end. . ."

"Well, stop! You need to save your air!"

"No, I'm good . . ."

"Dammit Colonel, I'm not going to break my back just to have you suffocate before I get there, now sit still and take very shallow breaths!" There wasn't an answer, which meant either Sheppard was taking his advice, or had passed out.

Both situations screamed out for Rodney to hurry.

He heaved, working from top to bottom, keeping a wary eye on shifting stones. With every strained movement he cursed Brouk, the planet, the lack of water, his own stupidity. He had to stop, dammit, because his muscles were screaming, and it was when he resumed that he felt the muscle tear.

He cried out, dropping the rock, nearly crushing his sandaled foot. "Son of a . . . Fuck!" He backed away, his right hand on his now useless left shoulder. He jerked it away, any movement hurt like fire. "Stupidstupidstupid!" He bit back tears of pain and frustration and desperation, using his good hand to peel away the rock wall, bracing the stones as they tumbled down, jumping aside of those that fell too fast. "God, Rodney, only you would . . ." he stopped as the rocks started to shift without his interference.

They slid downwards, cascading in a mineral flow that rolled across the floor and backed Rodney into a corner. A hand popped out, reaching. Rodney darted forward and took it, using his feet to pull away the remaining stones. Sheppard suddenly appeared, falling against Rodney and knocking them both away from the pitfall.

They tumbled to the ground, gasping for breath, wincing in pain. Rodney's wide eyes sought his friend's, and he smiled, gave a laugh of relief, and lay on his back, staring up at the ceiling.

Eventually Sheppard propped on one elbow, studying his friend, his face showing the strain and horrors that had been going through his own mind while trapped behind the rock wall. His breathing eased slightly, his eyes never left Rodney. "Thanks," he said.

Rodney heard it all in that one word. "You're welcome."

"You called me John," he responded after a moment, in a tone of mild astonishment.

"Did I? Oh. Well, it won't happen again." Rodney closed his eyes as the pain flared though his entire body. And both men lay there for quite a while.

------------------------------------------

It was decided between them that the best thing to do was to get the hell off the planet. Of course, conscience and curiosity took hold, and both men found themselves trekking deeper into the cavern, Sheppard limping from a severely bruised ankle, and Rodney with his overly-abused arm in a makeshift sling, courtesy of Sheppard's own shirt. It was the same arm that had been torn by the wolf, and therefore was rendered practically useless. "And I was babying it," Rodney muttered in disgust. He was trying to ignore the bruises on his friend's back, but it was hard, since the man insisted on walking just in front on him. "If you trip, I'll catch your fall better than one hand will," he had said. It made sense.

"So anyway," Rodney said, gritting his teeth against the constant jarring pain in his shoulder, "I guess Brouk has decided it's best to use the water as a lead- in to a new form of government or something. If he can find this water, he can use it to hold over the heads of the entire population of the planet."

"What about his Tal'Ran?"

Rodney's brow furrowed. "I think he is the Tal'Ran. Or a very big part of it."

"That would explain how he manages to get the best of the best," Sheppard commented, stopping.

Rodney stopped just behind him. "You okay?"

"Listen." His hand was held up, his eyes searching the area above him.

"What is it?" Rodney whispered. He stood against Sheppard in the close area, trying to see the same exact spot that Sheppard was staring at.

Sheppard slowly pointed, and nothing happened. Then there was a motion, he followed it with his finger as it fell, smacking on a rock below with a faint, wet ping.

"Oh my god," Rodney breathed. He carefully pushed around Sheppard, favoring his injury as he did so. "We're getting closer."

"Condensation." Sheppard nodded, and rubbed the wall beside him.

"Of course! I thought the air was getting cooler, but I kinda thought maybe I was going into shock."

Sheppard's lips quirked. He couldn't help it. "From a muscle pull?"

"Tear, Colonel, muscle tear, and for your information it hurts like hell."

Sheppard didn't comment. He did frown thoughtfully, and removed the wrap from Rodney's lower arm carefully, examining the bite wound. The blood had dried and formed a protective patch, but the edges were festering. He rewrapped it quickly. "Gotcha." Sheppard joined Rodney in surveying the ceiling. "So which way?"

Rodney cradled his arm. "At this point, it's a toss up. I think we need to go down these tunnels and just see where the moisture increases."

"Separately."

Rodney spun. "Oh, no."

"Just for a few hundred feet, Rodney, it would save time!"

"Which part of 'no' can you not comprehend? I'm not letting you out of my sight again. Bad enough I'm down here, I'm not about to be alone again."

"Relax! I'm only talking about going in a few hundred feet, then reporting back here. That's all."

"We go together." His tone was final.

"It'll take twice as long."

"I don't care!"

Sheppard narrowed his eyes, regarding the man standing next to him. The wounds on the back of his neck were very visible. His arm was held stiffly, and his other hand had been cut. His clothes were filthy, more so than Sheppard's, probably from the struggle he had so vividly described. His walk was pained and slightly hunched. Sheppard relented. "Fine. You pick first."

"Uh . . . this one." He pointed and led the way.


	11. Chapter 11

"Next time, I'm choosing," Sheppard grunted as he forced his way though the tight space.

"How was I supposed to know it would close up like this?" Rodney squeaked. He felt a pop on the back of his leg. "What was that for?"

"Don't stop!"

"I'm sorta running out of options up here!" Rodney's initial panic attack was long gone. It was a matter of accepting one's fate, which he was perfectly capable of doing as long as he could keep moving and not think.

"Is it blocked?"

"No."

"Then keep going!" Sheppard pressed his elbows hard to the rocks, and dragged his body another few feet, only to find that Rodney hadn't moved. "Rodney?"

"I . . . can't."

The voice was small. There was no sign of fear. It was frightfully calm, resigned and sad.

Sheppard reached out in the darkness and found his friend's ankle. He felt the man jump slightly. "Rodney?"

"It's getting too narrow." The breaths were growing shorter, and Sheppard could sense the man's muscles tense up.

"Relax. We'll just back out." Sheppard instantly started to wriggle backwards.

"No, just . . . wait."

Sheppard didn't like this a bit. "Alright, just listen to me. Take the torch and poke it in front of you, move it around, see how much space there is."

He heard shuffling as Rodney maneuvered the unlit torch in front of him. "Not much."

"Be specific."

"Oh come on!" he snapped. "Probably three by three and closing in, happy?"

Not really, no. Sheppard nodded. "Okay, rest for a moment. How's the arm?"

"Hurts. Useless. You try crawling around with a hurting, useless arm."

He'd rather not. He also didn't want to think of the dread he was feeling, which was probably tripled for the claustrophobic man in front of him. "You've been doing great, you know."

"Yeah, well, that'll make for a good dying thought. 'I crawled though a hole with a bum arm, hear me roar'."

"I'm serious, Rodney."

"We're gonna die in here, you know that?"

"No, we're not! Now just relax!"

"Relax?" Now his hackles were rising, and it was a much better sound than the hopeless defeat. "Being run through by barbed knives is preferable to the pain in my arm! I'm exhausted, I'm beyond hungry, which, by the way, I believe we're out of food and water? I'm stuck in a tunnel that is sucking the air from me, and you want me to _relax_?" The sentence ended in a squeak as a tremor vibrated deep within the cave.

Sheppard closed his eyes tight against his own panic. "Yes, Rodney McKay, that is exactly what I want you to do!"

"Well tough shit!"

Sheppard exhaled in frustration, and winced as Rodney started squirming, kicking small grit into the air with the soles of his sandals. "What the . . . stop it! You wanna bring this tunnel down on us?"

"No, I want the fuck out of here! Back up!"

Sheppard had been trying, but it was slow going. Not only that, but . . . "Okay, wait, wait, wait!" He sighed. "We may have a problem here."

"What? What problem?"

Sheppard shuffled his feet and felt a firm, gravely substance behind him. "I think we're committed."

He felt Rodney freeze. There was no movement, not even breath. "Don't say that."

"No, I mean it's. . ."

"Don't. Say. That!"

"Rodney! Listen to me!" He gathered his nerve. "You have to push forward, just a little, and see how much smaller the opening is. We may can still get through."

"How?"

"We can't go back! It isn't an option, now just do as I say!"

"What if it dead ends?"

"What if it doesn't? HUH?"

He waited. And, thankfully, he felt Rodney push off before him.

There was a lot of scrambling and cursing. He waited, trying to stay patient, but had to ask. "Well?"

The voice ahead of him was a little more muffled. "It's too small."

"Just pull your shoulders in!"

"I can't do that!"

"You can . . ."

"Colonel, in case you haven't noticed, I'm a little broader than your skinny scarecrow ass! And you're not up here, and I am, and I'm telling you I can't get through!"

There was a disgusted huff. "Not like you to give up."

"What?"

"You always find a way, Rodney. Now come on."

The pause was incredulous. "Haven't you listened to anything I've said?"

"Fine! You want to be responsible for my death too? I can't exactly get around you, you know!"

"Oh, now that is _so_ unfair!"

"And true! Now get your ass moving!" And Rodney tried.

He really did.

Sheppard's eyes closed in concentration. "Okay look, this isn't working. Stay perfectly still."

Rodney did so, then started. "What the hell are you doing?"

"I said be still! I'm trying to get around you." Unfortunately the only way to do that was up and over.

Rodney grunted as a weight settled carefully on his back, and a sandaled foot dug into his lower leg. "This . . . isn't working!" he gritted between his teeth. "Watch the shoulder. . .Son of a!"

"Wait, just gimme a minute."

"I don't think so!"

"Hey, this is no picnic, alright?" He shifted and reached forward and felt at the walls around them, feeling Rodney grunt in dismay. He resisted the urge to kick him.

"Okay," the man beneath him practically snarled, " . . . no way out. . . now back off! And I mean that in the most polite way I can manage."

Sheppard snorted. "You're such a joy to be stuck with, you know?"

"I'm doing the best I can!"

"It's not good enough!"

"Oh yeah? Let's see you do better, Wonderboy!"

"Let me through and I will!"

"THERE IS NO WAY PAST ME! Or were you having so much fun crushing the life from me that you didn't notice that?"

Actually, he had noticed. Rodney's broader frame wouldn't push more than six feet ahead, judging by the length of the torch. The tunnel ahead was much, much more narrow. Sheppard scrambled backwards. "Okay, look. Pass the torch back again, I'll see if I can loosen this end."

"Correct me if I'm wrong, but isn't loosening debris a bad idea at this point?"

Sheppard pulled at the torch. "Got another idea?"

" . . .no."

"Okay then." He started to poke, very carefully, at the pile behind him.

Rodney was still for a moment, then pressed forward. Sheppard said nothing, he just kept poking.

Neither spoke for a good half hour.

Sheppard managed to wriggle back about three feet before another tremor hit.

He heard Rodney yell, and felt rocks cascading onto his lower legs, effectively blocking his retreat completely. All he could do was pant, and croak, "McKay? You all right?"

"I – it shifted, or something," Rodney said painfully, and managed a laugh. "I'm really stuck. No games."

Crap. Sheppard once again dug his elbows into the surface beneath him and pulled as hard as he could. Slowly he was able to drag his legs free from the weight, if not totally form the rocks. "How?"

"Pressing – on my shoulders."

Sheppard reached forward, but felt nothing. "How much further did you get?"

"I don't know. But you're not . . .wait. I hope that's you."

Sheppard estimated Rodney had pulled himself another seven feet. "Yeah, I'm here."

Silence. Then, "We're really going to die, aren't we?"

"I'm not giving up yet."

"No, no, of course not, because we have so many other options at this point."

Sheppard knew his optimism was unrealistic. But there was no way things would let things end like this, buried alive on an alien world. It wasn't right.

It wasn't fair.

Rodney snorted. "Well, I guess it's better that we die together, huh? Otherwise I might actually be scared."

Sheppard thought back to the jumper, crashed and filling with water, and wondered what Rodney had felt then. Alone. Cold. Not holding out much hope. Rodney didn't talk about it, and Sheppard didn't ask, but the effects lingered. The tremble in Rodney's voice was unmistakable. Sheppard squeezed his leg for support, unsure what to say. What could be said?

As usual, Rodney filled in the gap. "To be honest, I could think of worse people to be stuck with."

"Like Ronon?"

"You kidding? I'd of been out of here hours ago."

"Probably," Sheppard agreed.

"No, I mean . . .you're the go-to man. You get us out of situations."

"I thought that was your job, answer man."

"Well, yes. Yes, you're right. But you're wise enough to listen." There was a soft sound, almost like a whimper. "I don't know, I just, I like to think we're. . .friends, maybe, and I suppose it's good to die with someone you might. . .respect. . .kind of."

Sheppard blinked in surprise. "Was there a compliment in there?"

"Don't get too happy." There was a pause. "So are we, or aren't we?"

"Are what?"

"Friends. I mean, that's why you came after me that time."

It was a bizarre conversation to be having, considering the situation. On the other hand, considering the situation. . ."Well - we hang out, don't we?"

"Team bonding."

Now why would he ask, and shoot down the response? "Oh, right. Of course. In other words I need lessons in putting up with your little quirks so I know how to respond to them during missions."

"What quirks?"

"How about your ability to stick your head so far up your ass you can taste your colon?"

"Oh, that's just disgusting and totally untrue," Rodney muttered.

"Artucus?"

"I thought we were past that!"

"I was using it as an example!"

It was a sore subject between them, despite the efforts to play it off. "Well, as much as I hate to admit it, you probably saved my life back then as well. I'd hope that was because you at least like me."

"Teams do that, you know. Watch each other's backs."

Rodney's head snapped around, peering at the black space behind him. Sheppard felt the movement, and knew the exact expression on the man's face. "That's it? That why you rescued me from that jumper and all, I mean faulty heroic tendencies aside. Because I'm valuable to Atlantis." Anger filled the words.

"Hey, if it weren't for my faulty heroic tendency, your skin would be liquified and drifting from your bones right now!"

"Oh, well yeah, there's a great image, I needed that! Thanks!"

This was insane. "What the hell do you want from me?" Sheppard yelled.

"I WANT YOUR FUCKING HEROIC TENDENCY TO KICK IN, GOD DAMMIT!" There was a pause, then frantic sounds of shuffling followed, and Sheppard grabbed at the feet that were kicking at him.

"Rodney! Calm down!"

"Screw you!"

"THAT'S AN ORDER!"

Rodney wasn't military. It didn't matter. Such was the authority in Sheppard's voice at that moment, and such was his own need to be reassured, he obeyed. His quick breathing steadied, and he was aware that Sheppard continued to hold on to his leg, not patting him in comfort, but providing a steady, reliable presence. When he spoke again, the voice was small, but not shaky. "What I'm getting at is . . .do you risk your life for mine because I'm a team member, or because I'm a friend?"

"I'd risk my life for any of the Atlantis crew."

"And?"

"And. . .doubly so for my team."

"And?"

"Jesus, Rodney! After everything we've been through, not to mention all the crap _you've_ put me through, you really think we aren't friends? I'm still here, aren't I?" Silence filled the tunnel again. Sheppard waited, feeling a little ashamed of his outburst, then prodded Rodney's hip. "Hey. You with me?"

"I'm here. Sorry, I just. . ."

Sheppard sighed. "No reason to apologize. Look, situations like these can. . ."

"Nonono. . . it isn't that."

"What then?"

"I – there's air." He sounded mesmerized. "I can feel air. And it's cool."

Sheppard pushed up onto his elbows, his head cracking on the rock above him. He muttered a curse. "How much air?"

"A lot! There's a definite flow-through. So the good news is, we won't suffocate. Bad news, we'll just die slowly of starvation." He seemed to be weighing the options, wondering which was the best way to be snuffed out.

Sheppard shifted forward eagerly. "Rodney, if there is that much air, then there is an opening. You just have to get there."

He actually laughed. "How? I seem to recall telling you earlier that I can't move."

Sheppard was on Rondey's legs, trying his best to see into pitch blackness. "Reach your good arm out. See how far it goes."

There was a grunt of concealed pain as weight was shifted to his abused shoulder, and a hesitation. "Gimmie the torch. Quickly."

Sheppard passed it up, and Rodney started chopping at the sides, which, after about five minutes of abuse, began to crumble inward. "I don't believe it."

"What is it?"

"Listen." Both men were silent. Below them was a steady roar, a roar which grew louder.

Sheppard was pressing forwards. "That sounds like. . ."

"Water. Lots and lots of water." With renewed energy, Rodney jabbed at the area before him. Sheppard scrambled forward as best he could, and both men tore at the rocks closing them in as the sound grew louder, the rocks turning to mush.

Rodney caught on a second too late. "Colonel. . ."

Their world collapsed around them, and they plunged head first into an abyss.


	12. Chapter 12

The water was pure liquid shock. Never before had something felt so wonderful and terrifying.

Sheppard broke the surface first, gasping for a lungful of air before the current pulled him under again. The water was rushing, destination unknown, but definitely going down. He slammed into rocks as he tumbled in the rapids, which quickly narrowed into the most harrowing water slide he'd ever ridden. The darkness was constant, the roar filling his ears painfully, and the cave tossed him about like a toy. After an eternity the wild ride eased and he managed to pull himself onto a small ledge that led to a flat area. Something managed to grab onto his leg before it was fully out of the water, and Sheppard managed to grab hold of an arm just before it slid by.

Rodney surfaced, and was pulled halfway to the ground. He vomited water and cried out as his shoulder was jostled, then coughed violently, not wanting to think about the many awful things he could have swallowed. He found himself in Sheppard's grip, and held onto the arm that was wrapped desperately around him, preventing him from sliding back into the water as he recovered. The pull on his lower body decreased, allowing for a painful struggle to scramble ashore.

Both men gasped for air, shivering, using each other's presence as a security blanket. Rodney swallowed and panted for a moment before saying, "I– I think – I've had enough of this crap."

He saw Sheppard's sympathetic agreement, and that was when the notion sunk in.

He could see.

He blinked in astonishment, and slowly sat up. "Some kind of phosphorous. Amazing."

Sheppard braced Rodney for a moment, then stood with him. The walls around them gleamed with an eerie greenish light, lichen lining the walls like glow-in-the-dark worms, veining the cave. Below them the water rushed by in a ghoulish stream. The water level was dropping.

Rodney gave a small nod of approval. "I think we're close."

"I think we're lost. But yeah, you're right." Below them the water level continued to fall. "I guess this is just flow-through."

Rodney had steadied himself and was examining the walls. "We have to be close. If we can wait until the water level drops sufficiently, we can follow the river bed, maybe all the way to the geyser."

"You do realize this geyser probably won't be active."

Rodney smirked, his face glowing in the light. "You do realize, with these tremors, it could actually go off any time now."

"So we start walking." Sheppard jumped back into the now knee-high water, and helped Rodney in. And they started to wade.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

The water level continued to drop. And it was much, much warmer.

Rodney had to reign in every bit of meager discipline he had not to just sit and lounge like a lizard. Even with the extreme heat, there was something about the water that was totally soothing, and he was totally ready for that.

Sheppard blamed it on the sediment. Called it a relaxing mineral bath.

Rodney didn't care if it was sulfuric acid. He sank back against a rock, out of breath and nearly out of gumption.

Sheppard waded around, feeling the water wrap thickly around his ankle, massaging it. He glanced back at his friend, sitting there with eyes half closed in exhaustion. "You okay?"

"Food would be nice."

He looked very pale, and more than a bit shaky. Sheppard counted back, trying to remember how long it had been since the last power bar. Both of their packs had been missing for quite some time, his own still buried, and McKay's didn't show up with the rescue.

Around them the walls glowed, the light slightly more dim than before, but plenty enough to see by. He was trying not to puzzle too much about how there were going to get out without the ability to see once they retreated to higher ground. Maybe they could scrape the lichen from the walls, but how long would that last on a stick? And where the hell would he get a stick? His torch pole was long gone. All he had, he wore. And the other bit of his possession sat slumped on a rock, half asleep. "Sit up. You'll fall in. Drown." The usual optimism was gone. Sheppard realized just how tired he sounded.

McKay raised exhausted eyes to him. "Might be a good thing."

"Don't start that."

"Who's starting?"

"Look, why don't we just . . ." and that was when they heard the noise. Sheppard held up his hand, and both men froze.

It wasn't even an alien noise so much as an odd chatter. And it wasn't a chatter in so far as verbalized words, but a chattering of teeth of someone, or something, very cold, or very hungry, and considering their luck the latter was the most probable. And yet it wasn't even that. But words weren't needed to describe the chill it gave the two men, the nuance of danger that surrounded it, and the feeling that they really needed to get the hell out of there, really fast.

It was the large, distorted shadow on the wall that made them take to their heels.

They sloshed their way as quickly and quietly as possible through the water, which was no easy task. McKay took several face dives, with Sheppard pulling him out every time, urging him on, only to take a dive himself. Soon the pretense of silence was forgotten, and they ran as fast as they could, because no matter how hard they tried to get away, the shadow was following, and the angry chattering sound was growing louder.

McKay took another face dive and rose. "This has ceased to be fun! I can't tell you how much fun this isn't!" And he pushed Sheppard on, stumbling behind him.

They found an incline, and managed to climb out of the water, Rodney's hand at Sheppard's back, urging him on through the pain the colonel felt in his ankle. His own arm was nothing more than a fiery block of agony, and the fact that he was becoming used to it frightened him. They scrambled up the gentle slope, exited through an opening onto a ledge, and halted at the sight that suddenly yawned below them.

The vast area was inner lit with the lichen, not only green, but yellow and white and stretching from one end of the huge cavern to the other, lighting every square meter. The area was easily the size of a soccer arena, the walls melding downwards into a slope which led to a huge crater deep beneath them. A very faint and constant rumble shook the ground at their feet.

Rodney stared, his eyes wide with shock and possibility. Sheppard's eyes were narrowed in thought as he analyzed the scope of land below. "This it?"

"I think so. Has to be."

He nodded, and quickly pulled Rodney aside as the chatter behind them reminded them of their dangerous predicament. "Okay, now would be a good time to see Ole Faithful blow a fuse."

"You kidding?" Rodney spun. "You seriously think we want to be in here when this happens?"

"It goes up, right?"

"Yes, and what goes up must come down. Not all of the water will evaporate, you know!"

"So . . . you're saying bath."

"I'm saying drowning!"

"Oh. Good. That the one thing that hasn't got us yet." The thing behind them bellowed in a odd, high pitched whine.

Sheppard yanked Rodney by his good arm and shoved him against the wall beside him. He looked around desperately for a good size stone, and managed to find one right as the creature showed its face, and slowly turned to them.

"Ever see 'Alien'?" Rodney asked in a low, petrified voice.

The creature was nothing more than an exoskeleton. The large head swiveled to face them, the macroscopic eyes pinned them down. Long claws curled around the side of the opening, one broad skeletal foot stepped forward. A thin body followed, black skin just barely covering it, stretched to the limit over a frame that resembled a rotten carcass. The creature hesitated, then gave a long hiss.

Sheppard raised his stone, trembling, trying to hide it, and his other arm reached around to push his friend to the rock. With one graceful swipe the creature knocked the stone away, and resumed a defensive stance.

It didn't attack.

Sheppard's brows tightened. He waited, but the creature didn't move. Instead, it watched. The ground trembled beneath them.

_Who are you?_ The voice sounded in Sheppard's mind, and beside him, Rodney jumped.

"Did you say something?" he asked slowly.

_I asked, who are you?_

"I . . . we're . . . friends. Who are you?"

_We are Riatu. I guard these caverns._

"Against what?" Rodney asked nervously.

_Against you. I know why you are here, why your kind comes. This water is ours._

Rodney pulled away from the wall slightly. "You mean there are others who have come down here? They've been able to get this far?" He turned to Sheppard. "Am I really talking to a bug?"

_Not this far, no. I encounter them elsewhere._

"Okay," Rodney said with as much nerve as he could muster, "let's get down to it." He blinked a few times as his bravado failed. "Are you going to eat us?"

If it were possible for the creature to look amused, it would have.

"You do realize," Sheppard said, "that the lack of water is killing those on the surface."

_That is no concern of mine._

"But, this planet is dying!" Rodney exclaimed. "You do realize that if the planet dies, you'll die."

_There is enough water down here to sustain the planet. _

"Yeah, hence the problem. It's down here. What about the people?"

_The water belongs to us._

"Okay," Rodney said, his ire rising. It was becoming obvious that the creature didn't intend to attack, not yet anyway, and he wanted answers. "If there is plenty of water to go around, why not be good little insectoids and share?"

The creature took an irate step forward, giving Rodney visions of deep-dish physicist. _They wish to bring the water to the surface._

"I'm sorry, am I the only one to detect a no-brainer here? You can just go to the surface to get the water you need."

_We will die if the water is released._

"How?" Sheppard frowned. "You're down here with it, or you can go up for it, how . . ?"

"No, no wait. I get it." Rodney gestured, rather disgustedly, to the body before them. "Look at it. This thing is designed for the desert heat and dry air." He addressed the Riatu. "I'm assuming you're not the only one of your kind?"

_There are many of us._

"And you require these insanely rough conditions in order to survive."

Sheppard shook his head. "There used to be a steady water cycle. Where were they then?"

"Well, it depends on just how long ago this land was lush. Brouk referred to his ancestors, but we really have no idea how far back that is." He counted off on his fingers. "No idea how long these people live, no idea if he is referring to a direct ancestor or one much, much further down the line, and for that matter no idea if the notion of a once fertile land is a myth. In short, we have no idea how long this planet has been this way, possibly for hundreds of years. It would be enough time for a species already used to hot climates to adjust to desert conditions, especially if they were living in a desert region already. The deserts just expanded with the lack of water."

_We must protect ourselves._

"But if all of this water was released, it would definitely change the climate of the planet as it stands now, never mind what may have happened in the past," Sheppard asked Rodney.

"If there is as much as they think, absolutely."

"And you know all this," he asked the Riatu.

_Yes._

"So basically," Sheppard said, "no water for the people above, no climate change, they die out. Water for the people above, climate change, you die out."

_Yes._

Sheppard gave a small sigh. "Well, this is a pretty little problem, isn't it?"

_We protect the water. It tries to escape. It never goes for long._

"Where does it try to escape?" Rodney asked. "Here?"

There was another rumble as Riatu pointed with a long claw to the ground seventy-five feet below them. _There._

Rodney nodded. "But how, I mean, the sky has to collect it. Cloud formation and all."

Sheppard had leaned out, and looked up. "Rodney," he muttered, "the sky does collect it. We just didn't notice."

Rodney followed his gaze. Several hundred feet above them, the rock opened in a near-perfect circle. "Night time." He sighed in relief. "I thought the air was fresher in here."

A huge rumble nearly knocked their feet from under them. Rodney turned to the creature, who had sunk its claws into the rock to steady itself, and he heard a loud shout from below. There was a loud burst of gunfire, and the Riatu shrieked, a painful, high pitch of pain, and released its grip, falling from the cliff. It landed on the rocks below, the body fracturing like splinters.

Rodney lunged forward, and was pulled back by Sheppard as another burst of fire sounded. He slammed back against the wall, breathing hard. "They have our weapons," Sheppard muttered in frustration. "Bastards have our goddamn weapons!"

A satisfied voice called up to them. "Colonel Sheppard, you may stop hiding now. We've killed the beast, you are safe."

The colonel leaned forward over the edge to see a familiar white grin against dark flesh. "Brouk! You are a pain in the ass, you know that?"

"I have been told." He smiled again and shouldered the weapon. "But on the good side, you have kept your end of the deal. I believe this is where the water rises, is it not?"

"And just what clued you in?" Rodney called down loudly.

Brouk winced and raised his hand. "Please, the acoustics here are very good. I heard everything you said to the creature, and thanks to the telepathy, what it said to you."

"You know about these . . . Riatu?"

"Of course."

"And I suppose neglecting to tell us was a strategic move on your part?"

"It was not necessary. There is nothing to be done about them."

"Nothing to be done? You have our guns!"

"Protection."

"Hey, we could've used those, you know!" Rodney shouted.

Again Brouk winced against the onslaught of sound. "They were recently acquired."

"From whom?"

"Not your concern."

"This doesn't sound good," Sheppard muttered in an aside to Rodney. Aloud he asked, "If you know about the Riatu, then you know releasing this water could kill an entire species."

Brouk shrugged. "As it said. I don't care."

"How could you not care?" Rodney snapped. "It may not be like you, but it's perfectly coherent, and seemingly more decent!"

"I must protect my own, as they must protect theirs," he acknowledged. "In this case, it seems I may have won the battle."

Rodney straightened. "Well, can't really put up a defense against the whole survival of the fittest thing."

Sheppard shook his head and called down, "Just how do you plan to release this water? At most it'll merely create another rainstorm."

Brouk smiled. Then he laughed. And he continued to laugh. "Colonel Sheppard," he said, "you must take me for a fool. Do you really believe I have not considered every contingency?" He snapped his fingers, and three men were brought forth by Brouk's companions.

"Oh my god," Rodney breathed, his toes on the edge of the cliff as he peered off.

Tied and with guns trained on them, Lorne and his team stared back from below.


	13. Chapter 13

"Brouk?" Sheppard asked, his voice low with tension. "What's the meaning of this?"

"Insurance," Brouk said. "It seems your people care after all. These men were discovered in the colony after you had already left."

"Lorne? You okay?" Sheppard asked.

Lorne glanced at Brouk, who nodded. "Just fine, sir. Treated pretty good, considering."

"I thought you were sending us to our death, putting us in here," Rodney insisted.

"Of course not!" Brouk walked forward, his hands held out in earnest, matching the expression on his face. "I said before, the people wanted retribution for what they considered conspiring with nature. I never doubted you, and saw sending you here to the cave as an appropriate exile."

"Then why capture my men?" Sheppard asked.

"They walked in on us with weapons. Again, self-preservation."

"Explains where the guns came from," Rodney muttered. "They really look okay to you?"

"Seem to be," Sheppard muttered back. He called down to Brouk. "So what happens now?"

"Now," the leader said, "we use the weaponry of your ship to release the waters from below."

Rodney laughed. "You've got to be kidding."

"It was your idea! You said it would work!"

"Okay, when I mentioned that, I was talking theoretically," Rodney cut in, speaking quickly. "You don't realize the full implications of this. That storm that nearly wiped out your village? That's nothing compared to the level of destruction we're talking about if you blow the caldera. We're talking a major, major Noah's Ark here. Massive floods that will wipe out the land for hundreds of miles. Even then it would take time to re-establish a proper water cycle that would nurture the planet. Blowing this thing isn't a quick fix."

"It is the only way."

"No, it isn't!" Rodney huffed and turned away, rubbing his forehead in frustration. A quick finger snap signaled the arrival of an idea. "Look, there has to be a way to tap it, to access the water in a more controlled environment. That way your people can get what they need, and the Riatu will survive as well. It's a win-win, provided we can access the water."

"And if you can't?" Brouk asked. Rodney said nothing, and Brouk shook his head. "I am sorry. I will not risk it."

The ground beneath them rumbled again as Sheppard leaned forward. Rodney caught him before he slipped down. "Now's probably not the time to discuss this, Brouk! I'm thinking we need to get out of here."

"We will stay and make certain this is the correct location."

The ground shook, and hissed. "Oh, I'm pretty sure this is it."

"We will stay!"

"Then release my men! You've got your water, at least give them a chance to get out of here!" Sheppard turned at the prod in his side. "What?"

"Any thoughts on _how_ we get out of here?" Rodney asked him apprehensively.

"What, you haven't come up with a clever idea?"

"Would I be asking you if I had?"

Sheppard glanced down to where Lorne and his men were being untied . "If they hurry, Lorne and the others can join us up here." He looked up. "How's your climbing skills, McKay?"

McKay's expression was priceless.

"There's a way out right above us. Better than beating the water trying to find our way back through the caves!"

"How many rocks landed on your head during that cave-in?"

"Rodney . . ."

"No. No way."

"Okay, so in one reality you drowned trying to save Atlantis, and then not long ago you nearly drowned in a sinking jumper. Third time's a charm?"

"I hate you."

"Send up my men!" Sheppard yelled down.

"You will assist us?" Brouk demanded.

"Doomsday," Rodney muttered alongside Sheppard's "yes!"

Brouk nodded, and Lorne's team started their ascent.

Sheppard surveyed the area above them. "Hope you don't mind if we go higher for a better view," he yelled down. "This ledge isn't too stable."

"You may climb," Brouk said, "but you will not make it."

"I suggest you do the same, Brouk, then we can talk."

"I will remain."

"Oh come on!" Rodney shouted. "Don't be a fool! Look, from this point we can take several options and make any version work."

There was no answer.

Rodney turned a desperate look toward Sheppard. "He really doesn't deserve this."

"No, I agree. His methods may seem twisted at times, but his heart is in the right place." Sheppard considered as his men continued to climb. "Brouk, listen to me. What McKay says is true. Now that we know this place is here, we can come back to it. We'll figure out something, I promise. Just. . .come with us. Your people need a good leader, someone who cares for them, and you do. What good it is to stay here like this?"

Brouk didn't move. Neither did his men.

A grubby hand suddenly reached up from below, out for Sheppard, and Lorne was pulled onto the small shelf. He sat against the wall, panting as his other men were secured. "Good to see you, Colonel."

"What the hell took you guys so long?" Sheppard grumbled.

"Trouble with the gate, sir, long story. Couldn't activate it to send the jumper through."

"What sort of trouble?" Rodney asked.

Lorne gave Rodney a grin. "I'll let Dr. Kavanaugh tell you, I'm not up on all that sciencey stuff. Makes my stomach turn. But he figured it out, so I guess he's the one you need to talk to."

Sheppard actually smiled at Rodney's exaggerated eye-roll. "Oh, terrific. I'll look forward to that. After I stick bamboo shoots underneath my nails."

"You could just stay here."

"Shut up."

"Anyone one else here?" Sheppard's attention returned to Lorne.

"No sir." He nodded to the two men who now sat beside him. "Just Jake, Connor and me. We were nabbed the minute we entered the village, but to give them credit, they treated us well." He took in Sheppard and McKay's state of dress and injuries. "Better than you, from the looks of it. What the hell's going on?"

"Ever see the Poseidon Adventure?"

"Sure."

"Naturalize it."

The ground shook, and a fissure appeared. Steam forced its way through the crack in a current of white. "Um, sir?"

"Going now." He pulled them to their feet, while eyeing the area above. "Whatcha think, Rodney?"

"Insane."

"Going for scientific here."

"I just told you."

"_Rodney _. . ."

"Okay, look, there's no way we can make it to the top in time." He pointed. "But if we can all fit in there, we'll avoid the worst of it and come away with a fresh, healthy complexion."

Sheppard just nodded and shoved the new arrivals ahead of him. "Brouk? Last chance!" He looked around. "Brouk?"

Rodney frowned and gazed over the cliff's edge. "They're not there!"

"Big surprise," Sheppard muttered. Lorne and his men were already on their way. Once again, the ground shook, this time nearly knocking them off their feet.

Sheppard and Rodney steadied each other. Sheppard's gaze fell on Rodney's shoulder and arm injury, and traced the meager sling upwards until he met Rodney's eyes. "You ready?" he asked softly.

"No." Rodney's response was as soft.

"I'm right behind ya."

And for some reason, that sentence was all it took for Rodney to grit his teeth and start upwards.

Ten minutes later Lorne and his team had hiked and climbed to the small enclosure, tucking themselves in. Sheppard and Rodney were half way there.

And the ground below exploded.


	14. Chapter 14

Throughout history, the various wonders of nature have been witnessed and documented, photographed and painted, discussed and dismissed as fancy, no matter where the phenomenon occurs. This applies to planets in other galaxies as well.

The geyser had been dismissed as a myth, then lured into the mainstream as a possibility, then raised hopes as a scientific probability.

None of which prepared anyone for a damn thing.

The water exploded thousands of feet into the air in a straight fluid rush, following the fissure in a jagged line and tearing into the night sky. It really does look like a reverse Niagara falls, Sheppard thought as he clung to the rock face, or maybe Moses parting the Red Sea. Maybe Moses hadn't traveled across the Egyptian desert, maybe the story originated from this very planet, where he worked with the waters to free his people. Maybe the story was passed along by those that built the pyramids. Maybe in some odd way Brouk was Moses.

The roar was deafening. The tremors were felt in the chest and bones of the men near it, the upward thrust creating a thrill-seeker adrenaline rush. It was impossible to breathe. Everything was soaked, and slick. Colors from the lichen below cast a glow on the outer sides of the geyser, surrounding it with iridescent rainbows while the interior darkened to a deep black-blue, and vanished.

There was no rain. Everything that fell, fell back into the geyser, and was pushed out again.

Rodney clung onto the rock with everything he had, with Sheppard directly behind him, pressing him hard against the stone. Both were drenched. The temperature was rising steadily, heating the rock, heating their faces, creating a sauna. Mists floated by like ghouls. Steam cracked and hissed. The roar dulled into a casual rush, and they turned, and gawked at the waterfall that was floating up, rather than falling down.

They watched it for nearly a full hour, until it subsided, quickly pulling back into the ground with a slight suck. The remaining water fell as rain all about them, poured from a heavenly bucket, then all was still.

Sheppard and McKay were trembling. A nudge pressed Rodney on, and he forced himself up until he was able to reach another ledge and rolled onto it, muffling his cry of pain and fighting the stiffness of his limbs. Sheppard followed, massaging his own pain from his increasingly useless ankle. They watched the water drip from above them, felt the fading tremors below, and breathed. Neither spoke for a very long time.

The climb eventually resumed, slowly, with Lorne and his men reaching the very top and shouting down encouragement. It took another two hours for Sheppard and McKay to join them. Lorne and his men pulled the exhausted men onto a stable patch of rock.

Sheppard coughed and gasped for air. Rodney just lay back, looking to ignore his surroundings and everything else on that forsaken planet. Lorne was tired and shaken, as were both Jake and Connor.

The colonel reached out groggily and gave Lorne a pat on the back. "Good work. Thanks."

"Yeah, you too. You okay?"

"Will be." He looked at Rodney, and was surprised to see the man slowly sitting up, his eyes fixed to the distant landscape.

The most spectacular sunrise they had ever seen colored the sky with purple and red clouds lining a yellow backdrop. Mists hung lazily in the air, swirling in circular patterns below them. The sun crested, and the whole view went electric with color.

Rodney smiled appreciatively, and passed out.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

The hike back to the village was timeless. It was very quiet. Rodney propped on Lorne's arm, with Connor to his other side while Sheppard limped alongside Jake. The people of Satureen met them on the border of the colony, eager for news, scooping them up in a celebratory mass, and carrying them to a fresh tent filled with piss-drink and broth. Sheppard forced a few spoonfuls down Rodney's throat before he fell asleep.

Brouk and his men never showed.

After a day of recovery, they headed back to Lorne's jumper. No one stopped them, in fact after being tossed into their tents, no one seemed to care what happened to them. If there were inquiries regarding the whereabouts of Brouk, no one mentioned it to them. Instead the people resumed their work, digging the trenches.

It seemed so pointless, for some reason.

The team transferred supplies from the crashed jumper to the working one, and launched into the heat-laden sky. But before going to the gate, they detoured and retraced their steps to find the geyser.

It was gone, collapsed inwards, with no way to release the waters.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Returning to Atlantis was a shock to the system for Rodney, and Carson compounded it. Rodney bitched and shrank back into his bed as his wounds were poked and prodded, and was told that surgery was needed to repair the tear in his shoulder. As if that wasn't enough to his dignity, Kavanaugh explained, in excruciating detail, how he cleverly saved Atlantis in McKay's absence, how he repaired the faulty gate system that had set an overload that could have destroyed the city but for his quick intervention, and how it was becoming increasingly apparent that McKay wasn't the only scientist around comprised of "unknown heroic material". That sentence made Rodney smirk, because there was a compliment hidden within, and that was a mark against Kavanaugh. It allowed him to suffer the rest of the boastful speech.

Kavanaugh brushed shoulders with Sheppard as the colonel entered on a single crutch, merely giving him a visual up and down before leaving. Sheppard pursed his lips comically and gave Rodney a knowing glance as he sat. "What's the verdict?"

"Mild concussion, stitches in my arm, and surgery," he replied gloomily. "Slight infection due to god know's what in that water. Pumping me with enough sugar steroids to fill the Carribean. How's the ankle?"

"Twisted. Nothing big. Hurts."

Rodney merely nodded.

Sheppard watched him. He looked a little better, not as worn down. His skin had darkened considerably, providing a tan he didn't think the man was capable of having. He hadn't even noticed how much they had changed physically until their return through the gate, where everyone suddenly looked too pale. He glanced at his own arm, much darker than Rodney's. "We should get the girls, now."

"Please. Mine'll fade in a week. Thought I admit, I kinda like it. Maybe I can devise a way to totally block the harmful UV's and bask for a while."

"Or you can return to Satureen."

"Not on your life." The depression fluttered back over his face.

Sheppard leaned forward, pressing his elbows into the mattress, and giving Rodney his full attention. "I know what you're thinking."

"I got their hopes up."

"They already knew about this thing. It isn't like they haven't been searching for it, you know."

"Brouk is dead."

"We don't know that."

"Oh come on, how could he have survived that?"

"Rodney," Sheppard shifted, "as I recall, the water stayed pretty up. And he left before the geyser erupted. I'm thinking he had a backup plan."

"Yeah?"

"He's a clever guy. No way he'd go down there without a plan."

"He followed us, you know."

"And if you were in his position, wouldn't you have done the same?"

"Probably. Yes."

Sheppard leaned back. "They'll figure it out."

Rodney nodded, his eyes fixed on the wall. "It's funny. I'm still not sure I trust him."

Sheppard smirked. "That's what makes him a good leader, in a sense. His own people trust him. He knows how to manipulate to get what he wants. But you notice something?"

"What?"

"He didn't actually hurt us."

"What about that man that put me on the ground with his knee in my back? That hurt!"

"That got your attention."

"They left you to die!"

"No, they released you and told you where I was."

"Lorne?"

"Said he was treated well."

Rodney gave up.

Sheppard leaned forward and picked at the blanket. "You were right though, about the geyser. You really think we could have tapped into something that powerful?"

"Please. What we saw was just the tip of the iceberg, there's no way to accurately calculate the pressure underneath. There's no way to tell how much is liquid, or how much is magma."

"Would tapping into this water gradually release the pressure?"

"Yes."

"How would we do that?"

"I don't know." Rodney sighed. "Hell, they're good at tunneling. Tap into that water system we were caught in and redirect it."

Sheppard nodded. "It collapsed, you know."

"Yeah."

"This isn't good."

"No, it isn't."

Carson entered, holding a chart and xray. "Colonel, I'll have to ask you to leave now. The sooner I can prep Rodney, the sooner he can get his complaining done and get back to work." He leaned in to Sheppard. "Between you and me, I've had enough of Kavanaugh thinking he can run the show. I've been giving poor Radek sedatives so he can sleep at night."

Sheppard smiled and patted Rodney's leg. "Sweet dreams."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"John! Come in." Elizabeth smiled and gestured to the seat across from her. "How are you feeling?"

It had been several days since their return. His ankle proved to be harder to heal than he had thought, amounting to a day of bed rest per Beckett just so he would stay off of it. Aggravating as hell. "Well, not ready to race Ronon yet, but I'm getting there." He sat carefully, propping his crutch against the desk.

"That's good. I also hear Carson is releasing Rodney to return to work."

John smiled. "Rodney's driving him nuts. Carson just booted him from the infirmary because he's running out of happy pills."

She smiled, looking down at her desk, knowing full well how much Rodney irritated the medical doctor. But then she also saw them together at the east pier with bottle in hand, candidly discussing aspects of Antarctica she had been oblivious too. Her smile faded slowly, replaced by concern. "I've been talking to Lorne, getting his side of the tale. He mentioned something that disturbs me."

"Oh yeah?"

"He says you thought we abandoned you."

Sheppard's guard went up. "I don't remember saying that."

"You were half delirious with fatigue by the time you came through the gate. There's no telling what you may have said to him."

"Sounds like Mr. Lorne and I need to have a conversation."

"Not until we do." Her eyes widened authoritatively.

He wasn't prepared for a private chat, though his few years with the conscientious leader should have taught him otherwise. "I thought something had gone wrong. Not like that's never happened."

"But you've thought this before."

Sheppard relented.

Weir pressed her palms to the desk and stood, rapping her knuckles on the desktop once before walking to the office balcony. Her arms crossed casually in front of her. Outside, the sun sipped at the sea. "Very beautiful out there."

The sunset was beautiful, but in washed out colors compared to what he had seen. "Nice."

"You know we would never abandon you."

"I know."

"Do you really know, or are you just saying that?" Her grey eyes were keen, and desperate.

He swallowed and gave himself some time before speaking. "Okay. It's like this. I'm not as bad as Rodney, but I – might – have my own trust issues to overcome. I know you guys will come back, but . . . sometimes I do think, 'what is this it, this is the time they can't do it'." He reached forward and took hold of Elizabeth's pen, tapping it against glass. "We have just so many tricks up our sleeve. Every good magician either gets caught at least once, or ends up giving out his tricks. And one day those tricks give out on him."

"We'll just have to make sure that doesn't happen."

"We're not magicians, John. We never claimed to be."

"Don't we?" He dropped the pen, and regarded her steadily.

She cleared her throat. "John, I called you here because I have some news for you, about Satureen."

Sheppard waited.

She stared at the water, watching the waves roll in. "We sent a team back for the crashed jumper. It wasn't there."

He rose slowly. "Not there? That's not possible. Rodney was trying to fix it, it wouldn't budge. There's no way they could've moved it."

"John . . ."

"Unless Rodney fixed it right as we were captured. But even then, the gene is needed to activate it."

"We found signs of wreckage where the geyser was reported."

"No." He almost laughed. "The gene, they can't fly it, unless they have . . ." he stopped, and paled.

She took a deep breath, then faced him, pinning his eyes with her words. He listened, and his heart jumped into his throat.

"John, there is nothing but mud. There's no colony, no jumper, no survivors. Nothing. It looks like there was a tremendous storm, unlike anything we, or they, have ever seen. Scans show the water on the surface area to have increased by seventy-six percent, and climbing. The extreme cloud cover is blocking the sun, creating more rain, and cooling the air to temperatures not seen in ages." She swallowed hard. "There is a huge crater where the geyser was. Other than that, the area is flattened." She swallowed. "I'm sorry."

Sheppard's eyes had narrowed in disbelief. He turned away, scrubbing his hand over his face and releasing a heavy sigh, walked to the side windows. He could see the waves passing the station, drifting onwards. A shadow moved nearby, and he looked up to see Rodney, his arm secured to his chest, his face torn between grief and anger.

There were no words. Either Brouk had killed everyone by trying to save them, or the planet itself had simply taken the fight for itself. They could never be sure.

His head fell forward in defeat.


End file.
